A Reflection of Himself
by Sindie
Summary: This is my own take on what I think transpires during the last two years at Hogwarts. My theory is based on indepth research and discussion of the Harry Potter books, including twists of my own. COMPLETE! Obviously AU now. HPGW, RWHG, RLNT
1. Chapter One

Part One: Year Six

Chapter One

Harry absently picked at the three-day old salad with his fork. The lettuce, brown and shriveled around the edges, moved around on the plate in a complete disarray as his gaze turned from the wall to the window. The mid-July sunlight practically blinded him, reflecting itself off his round spectacles, and he squinted his eyes, not really paying any attention to the others who sat around the table. 

"Boy, are you going to finish your salad, or should we just send you away from the table this instant?" barked his uncle Vernon's fierce voice. 

Harry, not the least bit shocked by Uncle Vernon's persistent threats, shrugged his shoulders and stood up from the table. Without looking any of his relatives in the eyes, he muttered, "It's not like I'm missing out on some sort of rare delicacy anyway..." 

Harry picked the plate up and emptied the remains, which was actually most of the salad that had initially been given to him, into the waste bin. He could hear his aunt Petunia scoff as he left the kitchen, her squeaky voice complaining about "no respect" or something ridiculous. The boy made his way through the living room and toward the front door, knowing that he needed some fresh air. Being trapped in the same house as the Dursleys was hardly Harry's idea of a good time, and since the day outside was promising enough, he thought a nice, long walk might be just the very thing he so desperately needed. 

As Harry stepped out on to the front stoop, he closed the door quietly behind him and took in his surroundings. Number four, Privet Drive was just like all the other houses on that street, being square and conforming to the "normalcy" of the Muggle neighborhood. From a very young age, Harry was viewed by the neighbors and his relatives as different, and on Privet Drive, being different was not a welcome thing. Few people extended invitations to parties or gatherings to Harry over the years, and he was used to the strange looks people gave him as he walked past their homes. They were comfortable with things they understood, and at that very thought, Harry let a sarcastic laugh escape his mouth. Normal. Well, normal hardly described what happened last summer in this neighborhood. Two dementors attacked Harry and his cousin Dudley, and that was just the beginning of what had proven to be his most difficult and challenging year at Hogwarts ever. 

Hogwarts. Just two more years left, and what would they bring? Harry's thoughts turned and cycled relentlessly through his mind. These Muggles didn't know what types of threats lay hidden from their safe and protected world. They didn't have any sort of understanding or appreciation for the efforts wizards and witches made to ensure that the world kept going, despite the likes of Voldemort and his fellow Death Eaters. Harry hadn't heard anything particularly strange in the news these past couple of weeks, but it was almost inevitable that Muggles and magical-folk alike weren't safe, not as long as Voldemort was still alive. 

Still alive. Harry thought about the Prophecy, about how he had to be the one to kill Voldemort, and at this thought, Harry's head spun and his insides churned. What price would be paid in the end to defeat the Dark Lord? Being just shy of sixteen years, Harry was just truly beginning to understand the weight of the burden he carried on his young shoulders. The famous "Boy Who Lived" would have given anything five or more years ago to be recognized by somebody. Now, it seemed, his life had done a complete one-eighty. And people wondered why he was angry at the whole world... 

Harry stopped. He suddenly realized where he was standing. Just a few streets over from Privet Drive, Harry now was standing in the exact same spot where he had first seem Sirius Black in his animagus form three years prior. The black dog had scared the already-frightened thirteen-year-old Harry, and Harry now found himself scared in a completely different way. He wasn't just scared for his own life anymore. Things had since become much more complicated than that. Dumbledore's most recent words hung in Harry's mind like a raw piece of meat left to drain the blood from the flesh. 

Dumbledore. The old, wise wizard who Harry had looked up to, the man who seemed too good to be true, and he was. Harry had experienced the bleak weakness of Dumbledore during his fifth year, and Dumbledore admitted his defeat to Harry only too late. Harry was still angry at the old man, although angry didn't begin to describe how furious Harry truly was with Dumbledore. _Yes,_ Harry thought, _you should have told me the truth about the Prophecy a long time ago..._ Dumbledore, being a century and a half old, admitted how he had forgotten what it was like to be young when he realized he should have told Harry about the Prophecy when Harry was eleven. At eleven, Harry had already defeated Voldemort twice, but the final defeat was yet to come. But at what price? 

Innocence lost and innocent lives... That was the price, or was it? Were James Potter and Sirius Black as innocent as Harry had once believed? Harry blinked a couple of times at the thought of Sirius. The death of Cedric the prior year had been bad enough, but losing his own godfather too soon left him feeling empty and confused. How well did Sirius even know Harry? Harry had mixed feelings regarding his late godfather. Sirius had told Harry that he was less like his father than he thought. How was Harry supposed to take that? 

An insult or a compliment? Nothing was clear-cut anymore. Sirius wanted his childhood best friend back, no doubt, but Harry needed someone who was more like a father than a friend. Sirius never really had the chance to be a father-figure toward Harry, but was it something he was even capable of? A father-figure. 

Father. Harry's father, James Potter, a man who he had never really known. A man who he had seen in old photographs waving at him, looking at him sadly from the Mirror of Erised, spoken about by his old friends (and enemies), an echo from Voldemort's wand, and a memory frozen in Snape's pensieve. 

Snape. Harry wanted to spit at the thought of that man's name. With everything else Harry had to endure and tolerate (or fight), the last thing Harry wanted to deal with were thoughts regarding the Potions professor who insisted on making his life a living hell. Or was it really a living hell? Harry ventured that he had yet to see the worst of what hell really was. Snape might have been a threat to Harry (or so he saw it that way), but Voldemort was the real threat here. Snape was on the same side as Harry now, and that added to the confusion. Snape had been telling Harry the truth all along about his father, but still, Harry didn't want to venture down the road of trying to figure out the man who was and is Snape. He had his own set of problems. 

The wind blew fiercely, adding to the dryness of his eyes. Tears refused to come; they were a weakness, anyway, and Harry refused to be weak. If he had any sort of dignity left, he wouldn't let people see him as a weakling. Ignorance was bliss sometimes. 

His hair was matted even worse by the relentless wind, and Harry realized that clouds were starting to roll in. Yet another summer storm, but all the rain or tears in the world couldn't wash away the filth that was Voldemort that quite literally plagued Harry's mind. His vision blurred, almost as if he had removed his glasses, but he knew the wind was drying them out. If there were any tears worth sheading, they would have been blown away, but there would be no tears. 

His feet and thoughts had taken him far enough for one day, and as Harry continued to wander down the streets and through the neighborhood, he came only to realize that he was back where he had started. Number four, Privet Drive. His feet were aching, and Harry wondered just how long he had been walking. He glanced through the front window to see his uncle and aunt watching the television. The evening news were on, and the news reporter's voice echoed through the window and into Harry's ears as he listened tentatively. Nothing new, nothing life-threatening. With that, Harry sighed heavily and proceeded to the front door and turned the knob. With a click, the handle turned and the door opened. 

Harry stepped into the room, his uncle glaring at him with complete distrust. "And where have you been, boy? You haven't been getting into trouble, have you?" he demanded ferociously. 

"No," Harry mumbled, staring at the floor. Admiring his feet clad in a pair of Dudley's old shoes, Harry realized he would rather look at worn shoelaces and torn soles instead of his uncle's purple face twisted in anger. "I was just thinking about how my life is so different from yours." 

"Well, that's one thing you're bloody right about," Uncle Vernon replied with malice before he turned his attention back to the television. Aunt Petunia "hmphed" and gave her nephew the cold shoulder. 

_Funny,_ thought Harry, _funny how this place protects me from the likes of Voldemort, yet I'd much rather be anywhere else in the world right now._

Harry proceeded up the stairs and down the hallway, closing his door to the world and locking himself away from yet another night. Another day had passed, and the world as all Muggles knew it had continued on, with no thought or worry about whether the sun would rise the next morning. Harry, however, knew better. Those days were numbered, and as he lay on his bed, the clouds cleared away, and the sun slowly sank into the western horizon. Harry wondered just how many more lives would be lost. That would be the final cost. He closed his eyes. For tonight, anyway, his scar would leave him in peace, but his dreams and thoughts wouldn't. That was the cost indeed.


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two

Passersby on the street were none the wiser, for to them, this street on which they trod was simply another English residential street, lined with identical houses inhabited by normal, everyday people. The summer evening was mild, and a light breeze blew, rustling the leaves in the neighborhood trees. The whole place was placid and calm, and it was a gorgeous night for star-gazing. One star in particular, Sirius, sparkled brightly in the constellation of Canis Major. 

What lay hidden from the common eye, however, was of little consequence or concern to the people who lived here in this quaint quarter of town. To them, there was no such address as number twelve, Grimmauld Place, but oh, how they were wrong and how little they knew what number twelve housed. Invisible to the eyes of Muggles, the so-aptly named non-magical folk, number twelve existed only in the sight of wizards and witches. In fact, number twelve, Grimmauld Place had been the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix for the past year or so, but now the house was empty and cold when the members weren't there for a meeting. 

Inside the rundown house, members of the Order were concluding their latest meeting. It was mid-July, just a couple of weeks after the conclusion of another school year at Hogwarts. The Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, stood up from his seat near the fireplace and looked at the last two members who were in the room. 

From the door, Minerva McGonagall called, "I'll see you back at Hogwarts, then, Albus." 

"Yes, yes, Minerva," Dumbledore replied with apparent exhaustion in his voice. He yawned and spoke to the two who remained. "What a long meeting this has been. After what happened at the Department of Mysteries a couple of weeks ago, it's of little surprise..." he trailed off, knowing that the events of that night at the Ministry were difficult for everyone to address, especially for the one younger man who remained in the room. 

This particular younger man looked worn out beyond hope of ever regaining his youthfulness, but he smiled wanely at Dumbledore. "It's late, Albus. Don't worry about waiting up for me. The moon is nearly full, so it will be a few days before I will see you again." 

"Very well, Remus," Dumbledore remarked, trying to smile, but there was little reason to smile nowadays. Turning to his right, Dumbledore addressed the other younger man in the room. "Good night, Severus. I trust you have everything under control," he said cryptically. 

"Yes, Headmaster," Snape replied a bit too formally for the situation. 

Dumbledore gave a brief nod and then was gone. The door creaked shut, leaving two men in their late thirties alone in the rather dark room. The fire was slowly dying in the fireplace, but neither of them made any movement to add another log. For what seemed like an expansive length of time, they stared at opposite walls, watching the shadows the firelight cast dance across the broken plaster. 

Finally, Remus Lupin spoke, "You have it, then?" 

The sudden words caught Severus Snape slightly off-guard. He had drifted into a daze, but luckily for him, Lupin didn't see him jump in his high-backed leather chair. 

"Yes," he said tersely. "The Wolfsbane potion is prepared and sitting on the table in the corner." 

Lupin tried to be sincere and replied, "Thank you, Severus. You know, if it weren't for your formidable abilities to brew such a complicated potion as Wolfsbane-" 

But Lupin was cut off when Snape interjected, "Do not flatter me, Lupin. Just take the bloody potion and be on your way." 

"But why are you still here, then?" Lupin couldn't help but to ask, for Snape never stayed late after any meetings for the Order. 

Snape gritted his teeth and sulked in the chair, refusing to allow Lupin to see him. If the werewolf could see the look of scorn on his face, he would have been smarter than to insist on asking such superfluous, nonsensical questions - or at least they were to Snape. 

"Are you going to answer me?" Lupin persisted. 

"Here's a question for you, Lupin," Snape sneered. "Why are we still meeting in this cursed place? Why are we holding meetings in a deserted dump of house that belonged to-" 

"To my friend?" Lupin inquired shakily, feeling a surge of mixed emotions stirring within his inside. He was more vulnerable when the moon was nearly full and he was about to undergo another transformation. 

Snape didn't answer, so Lupin stood up from his chair and walked across the creaky floor boards. Normally not one who was quick to anger, Lupin was feeling upset this evening to the point of no return. He circled around the chair and faced Snape squarely, his eyes boring into Snape's eyes. 

"What do you want from me?" Lupin questioned Snape softly, trying to keep his voice steady, but his eyes were starting to water. 

"Funny," Snape drawled. "I could ask the same thing of you." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" Lupin immediately asked, taken aback and feeling an accusational finger being pointed in his direction. "What are you saying?" 

Snape sighed and shook his head in dismay. "This whole charade you've been putting on these past few years, Lupin... What are you trying to prove to me? Your false sincerity and politeness is hardly convincing, and no doubt, you are siding with the famous Harry Potter on this one." 

Still shaken by the thought of his late good friend, Lupin took a long, deep breath before speaking. "I haven't spoken to Harry since... since that night," he said softly, looking away from Snape. 

Lupin knew he should have turned away from Snape, taken the potion, and left the room at that moment, but something held him back. His emotions were whirling around relentlessly in his mind and churning his insides. His eyes burned with unshed tears, and while staring aimlessly at a rather large crack in the wall, Lupin had no choice but to listen as Snape's voice rang into his ears again. 

"Potter blames me for Black's death," Snape spat bitterly. "Besides," he continued sarcastically, "I was the one who taunted the fool, who told him he was of no real use to the Order by staying locked up in this shack. It's always easier to blame others than to face the reality of the situation, wouldn't you agree, Lupin?" 

Lupin made a choking sound and slowly faced Snape again. If Snape was going to persist in taunting him with his sardonic attitude and sadistic mind games, Lupin was in no mood to handle them any longer. For too long he had sat quiet while others spoke for him or to him. After all, Lupin was the nice guy, wasn't he? He was the fair one, the one who didn't pass judgment, the one who Dumbledore had made Prefect to be a role model for his close friends, but time and again, Lupin had been walked on, trampled, and wiped thread bare and left with only the muddy afterthoughts to clean up. 

Not this night, though. Lupin's normally soft eyes glared at Snape, not afraid to look into the other man's black eyes that seemed like endless tunnels. Long, black hair hung gracelessly in Snape's thin face, where his thin lips seemed permanently pressed into a sneer. 

"I never accused you of being guilty for anything except ignorance, and that was two years ago when you flat out refused to listen to Sirius and me in the Shrieking Shack. You came barreling into the room that night, over-confident that you had captured a murderer, and all your provincial mind could think of at the time was more or less death for Sirius... I bet you're quite proud and happy now, aren't you, Snape?" Lupin hollered. "Because Sirius is dead now!" 

Snape was at a loss for words. Never in his life had he witnessed such outrage from Lupin, even that night in the Shrieking Shack two years prior. He studied Lupin carefully, trying to discern all the emotions that must have been pumping through the werewolf's quickly beating heart. 

He swallowed and then said softly, "There was a time I would wished him dead, I will admit that, but that has not been the case for a long time." 

Lupin couldn't believe what his own two ears were hearing... sorrow, regret, honesty? There had once been four Marauders; now there was only Lupin, and here he was, standing in a dreary room with the said opponent to everything the Marauders stood for. In their mischievous eyes and minds, Snape was always sticking his large nose in places it didn't belong, trying to find a reason to get the Marauders in trouble. Very real trouble now loomed all around the wizarding world, and those who were once friends were now adversaries, and sometimes, though it was rare, the opposite was true. Sometimes, old enemies became allies. 

"Severus-" Lupin began quietly, feeling sudden guilt washing over him for having accused Snape of wishing Sirius Black dead. 

"No," Snape said with a rough edge in his voice, "don't. Just don't." He turned away from Lupin and stared out the window at the night sky. There among the stars, he gazed upon Sirius. "I tried to tell him not to leave the house that night," he whispered almost inaudibly, "but he refused to listen to me. The stubborn fool... always doing whatever his emotions told him to do, running head-long into danger, never once thinking about what the consequences might be... such Gryffindor foolishness and over-prided bravery..." 

Snape trailed off, shaking his head in chagrin. His words weren't spoken with malice, however; they seemed coated with something that Lupin thought was a mixture of sorrow and disappointment. 

Lupin let loose a faint laugh and admitted, "I fear to say you are quite right about Sirius. He could be rather thick-headed, but then again, I suppose we all can be at times." 

Snape turned to face Lupin and nodded in acknowledgment and agreement. "Yes, I suppose that can be the case." 

Silence. Time seemed to stand still those next few moments as they stood there, staring at each other intently, eye to eye. Finally, Snape broke the gaze and eyed the Wolfsbane potion. 

"You should probably drink that soon," he said matter-of-factly, gesturing with his hand toward the table where the potion sat. 

"Yes, I suppose you are right. It's quite late, but I think I will pay Harry a quick visit before going home. I know Sirius's... death... has affected him deeply... as it has us all." 

Snape moved uncomfortably in the chair but said nothing. 

"Would you like to come with me?" Lupin offered. 

"I'm afraid-" Snape paused, "I'm afraid Potter wouldn't take too kindly to seeing me, of all people, especially over the summer. There are just six short weeks until the start of the new school year, so we will be having the unfortunate experience at seeing each other again all too soon." 

Lupin just smiled and shook his head, knowing that some things (and people) would probably never change. As the fire neared its end, Lupin turned once more to Snape and nodded. "Well, I will see you soon, next meeting." 

"Likewise," Snape replied shortly. 

With a popping sound, Lupin disapparated, leaving Snape alone in the room. He examined the room quickly with his eyes to make sure nothing of importance was being left behind and then walked to the window. He stared intently at the sky once again and found Sirius among the stars. 

"I suppose," he said quietly, "that you may be up there with the stars, looking down on Potter... Harry. Don't fret too much and let those silly Gryffindor feelings get the worst of you. The boy is in good hands." 

The popping sound again and Snape, too, was gone. The starlight momentarily flooded the room just a little brighter as the last flame in the fireplace burnt out. The black veil of night covered the earth once again, but tomorrow the light would return. However, even in the darkest night, the stars still shine. 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three

A black veil, faint voices on the other side, Bellatrix's screeching laughter, a handsome man's body falling for what seemed like forever... and... 

"SIRIUS!" Harry yelled, awakening himself from his nightmare that was all too real and fresh in his memory. 

Harry jolted up in bed, beads of sweat across his forehead, and his eyes wide open. Everything was blurry, so he immediately fumbled around in the dark, searching for his glasses. Once he found them, he heard a popping sound and saw a figure of a man standing in his bedroom. The light from the nearly full moon shone through the lone window, illuminating the man's rugged yet gentle features. 

"Remus?" Harry asked, not sure his eyes were telling him the truth. 

Lupin smiled weakly at Harry and walked over to the young wizard. "Yes, Harry, it's me." 

Harry trembled and felt like he was about to lose control of himself and start crying upon seeing Lupin standing there. After Sirius, the werewolf was the next closest person he had to a father figure in his life, and Harry simply couldn't bear the thought of losing him, too. It seemed like so many people Harry loved had died already, so like a small boy, he wrapped his arms desperately around Lupin's body, burying his head into Lupin's loose, dirty robes as he wept. His fingers clung on to Lupin for dear life, afraid to let go, lest he suddenly lose Lupin as well. 

Lupin gently patted Harry on the back and tousled the boy's already slept-on, messy hair. He tried to stay strong for Harry, for it was all he could do to prevent himself from breaking down as well. They hadn't really had any time together to cope with Sirius's death since that tragic day a couple of weeks ago, and once Harry was back at the Dursleys, he began to wonder if any of his friends would be there to talk to him. As the days passed and no one came, Harry grew depressed, thinking that everyone else had simply moved on and kept living their lives. He bitterly dismissed them, and although it was selfish to wallow in his own self-pity, he was too upset to care anymore. 

Finally, after he cried himself empty, Harry looked at Lupin with blood-shot eyes that burned with the aftermath of tears. "I'm sorry," Harry said very softly. "I didn't mean to cry at you like that. It's just that-" 

"You don't need to explain yourself to me, Harry," Lupin replied gently. "I understand." 

Harry nodded as he began to release his grip on Lupin, and they both eased back until they were facing each other. Harry was now almost as tall as Lupin, which wasn't actually saying much, since Sirius had been much taller than Lupin. Harry was suddenly finding himself at a loss for words, so he simply asked, "What made you stop by to see me?" 

"Well," Lupin began hesitantly, "I realize it's been two weeks since... since that night, and I- I just had to cope with things on my own before I could deal with seeing anyone else. Tonight was the first night I had seen anyone since Hogwarts let out." 

"Was it an Order meeting?" Harry questioned. 

"Yes," Lupin said. He acted like he was going to say more, but then he was silent. 

Lupin found a wooden chair by the desk that was heaped full of Dudley's old, broken toys and gadgets from over the years and sat down, sighing. He rubbed his temples with exhaustion and closed his eyes. The lines on his rather young face stood out in stark contrast against the moonlight that was shining on his features, making him appear older than he actually was. Lupin ran a hand aimlessly through his longish, wavy, light brown hair and sighed again. 

"What is it?" Harry asked tentatively. 

"I'm just worn out," Lupin half-lied. "The moon is nearly full, so I probably shouldn't stay for long." 

Harry examined Lupin quizzically and stook his head. "No, there's more to it than that... Was Snape there? At the meeting?" 

"Yes," Lupin admitted reluctantly. 

By the look on Lupin's pale face, Harry knew something had transgressed between the two men, and knowing Snape like he did, Harry jumped to the conclusion that Snape had given Lupin a hard time. 

"What did that greasy git do, exactly?" asked Harry suspiciously. "He didn't give you any more grief than you're already having, did he? Why, if he were here this very moment, I'd tell him a thing or two..." 

"Harry, Harry," Lupin replied, shaking his head ruefully, "it's not that simple. Yes, he and I, well, we had a talk, but it's not what you think." 

"Really?" Harry asked sarcastically. "Well, I find that quite hard to believe, especially since he acted no differently toward me after... after that night." 

"Everyone has their own way of dealing with loss, Harry," Lupin said matter-of-factly. "Some people just don't care to show emotion like others, and in a situation as complicated as this-" 

"Don't make excuses!" Harry yelled, throwing his arms up into the air. 

"Shhh, won't someone hear you?" 

"I don't care anymore," Harry lied, crossing his arms like a pouty child. 

"You and I both know that's not true, Harry," Lupin replied gently as he looked intently at Harry. He paused and then continued, "Look, I didn't come here to discuss Sev- Professor Snape. I just wanted to see how you were doing." 

Harry sighed sadly and felt guilty for exploding at Lupin just moments ago, and he listened for any sounds coming from outside his bedroom door, hoping he had not awakened his relatives. The last thing he needed was his uncle Vernon barging into his room in the middle of the night with his purple face twisted in anger, threatening Harry with his fists. When he didn't hear anything, Harry decided it best to keep his voice low, but it broke as he began to speak. 

"How... how I'm doing? Remus, I just don't know what the point is anymore... I mean, how many more people do I have to see die before I can defeat him... if I even can defeat him..." his solitary voice drifted off into the shadows. 

"You _will_ defeat him," Lupin stressed. "You've got to believe that, Harry. Everyone is counting on you." 

"See," Harry interjected, "that's the thing: Everyone looks to me to save them. D'you think I ever asked for this? Why me, Remus? Why not Dumbledore if he's so powerful or my father if he was all he was cracked up to be... or hell, why not even bloody Snape? What I'd give just to be like all the other boys my age." 

Lupin sighed deeply and gazed squarely into Harry's green eyes. "Harry," he said firmly, "we don't always ask for what we're given, but we've got to do the best with what we do have. You think I asked to be cursed with Lycanthropy for the rest of my life? Because of it, Harry, I've been scorned by many wizards my whole life, but your father, Sirius, Dumbledore... they all looked beyond my condition and saw me as a person, nothing more or less. Harry, when I look at you, I see you for who you are: Harry, nothing more or less. Don't become so wrapped up with your own troubles that you forget what's important. We've all got our demons, Harry, but what we do with them is what matters. Don't take anyone at face value if you can help it." 

Harry stared at Lupin as he spoke, and Harry listened to every word, thinking how much Lupin sounded like Dumbledore, only his words were much more frank and didn't seem elevated with age-old wisdom. Harry took in those words and digested them, allowing them to cycle around in his mind, until he was able to make a coherent response. 

"I know you're right, Remus," he admitted. "I guess I've just been so wrapped up in my own problems and feelings that I haven't been thinking clearly. I have to admit that I'm rather scared about what these few couple of years will bring, but I just hope I don't lose you, too." 

That said, Harry stepped toward the werewolf and hugged him like a son hugs his father. Lupin brought his own arms around Harry's slightly smaller form, both of them feeling like they weren't alone in the cold world for once. 

The embrace ended, and Lupin said tiredly, "I really ought to get going. You and I both need our sleep. I'll see you again soon, Harry." 

"Good night, Remus... and thank you." 

Lupin flashed a quick smile as he disapparated, leaving Harry alone in the room. Harry returned to his bed and pulled the covers up, removed his glasses, and closed his eyes. Maybe his nightmares would leave him in peace for tonight. 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four

Severus Snape apparated to the gates of Hogwarts in the late night, relieved to be back to the place he had come to call home. The wind blew lightly, playing with his long hair as he began to make his way toward the castle. The towers loomed high in the distance, displaying a rather imposing figure of a building against the night sky. Small ripples danced across the lake, and the leaves gently rustled in the mild breeze. It was a beautiful night, but unlike most nights when he stayed up to all odd hours of the early morning, Snape was quite worn out this night. Trudging up the main stairway, he thought of how welcoming that pillow hitting his weary head would feel. He opened the door and entered, only to be greeted by a lone figure standing in the dim candlelight. 

"Albus," Snape said softly, "what are you doing awake at this hour?" 

Snape approached the Headmaster with a curious look on his face as the old wizard replied, smiling, "Good evening, Severus. I could ask the same of you." 

"It is hardly evening, Headmaster," Snape scoffed, shaking his head in annoyance at Dumbledore's avoidance of the question. 

"Ah, true enough, I suppose," mused Dumbledore. "I was actually waiting up for you. Do you have a moment?" 

Snape rolled his eyes. "Do I have a choice?" 

Dumbledore only chuckled softly and began to walk toward the entrance to his private chambers. Snape followed without question as Dumbledore gave the appropriate password to the gargoyle. The hidden door opened to reveal a staircase that moved upward, spiraling several times, as the two men stood upon it. Once they were at the top, Dumbledore held the door open politely and allowed Snape to enter first. Snape was beginning to lose his patience at the old wizard's relentless benevolence, so he leaned against the mantle of the fireplace with his arms crossed over his chest. 

Dumbledore seemed to be in no hurry as he sat down and conjured up a teapot and two cups. The whole scene was rather old and tiresome to Snape, for he had had the oh-so-delightful experience of having tea with the Headmaster as they sat in the same two leather-backed chairs by the fireplace. The conversations were not always the same, but the atmosphere rarely changed. Usually, though, it was predictable that Dumbledore would muse and speak in euphemisms, while Snape would utter a single syllable response here and there or just grunt when he didn't feel like even talking. 

Dumbledore glanced over at Snape's stiff form by the fireplace and said, trying to contain his laughter, "Oh, Severus, do sit down." He gestured at the other chair. 

Snape sighed exasperately and moved to the said chair in a huff. Once seated, he made no motion to accept the cup of tea, but rather, he kept his arms crossed in what was supposed to be a menacing position. It would have worked around anyone else, but Dumbledore wasn't fazed. 

The Headmaster sipped his tea slowly, placed it down, picked it up again, and took another sip. By this point, Snape had had enough waiting as Dumbledore got his jollies out of what Snape considered a type of cruel and unusual punishment directed specially toward him. 

"What," snapped Snape, "do you want, already, Albus? I haven't got all night." 

"I thought you would never ask," mused Dumbledore innocently. 

"Don't play coy with me, old man," Snape replied irascibly. "I'm in no mood for games." 

"Fine, fine, have it your way, then, Severus. Now, I'll get to the point. I couldn't help but to notice that you have returned much later after the meeting adjourned, and I also noticed that Remus and you were the last two in the house as I left." 

"And your point would be?" 

"Well, did the two of you talk?" 

"And what would I have to share with a werewolf?" Snape spat. "Please, Albus, spare me your intuitive remarks." 

"If you would rather not talk about it, that is fine, too, you know." Dumbledore gave Snape one of his pricelessly annoying winks. 

"Good night, Albus," Snape said tersely, standing up and walking very quickly toward the door. 

Dumbledore watched as Snape left the room and smiled at Fawkes, his pet phoenix, saying, "Sometimes he really surprises me." 

Dumbledore yawned and decided it was well past his usual bedtime, although he couldn't help but to wonder if, in spite of his obvious moodiness due to being exhausted, Snape would actually head straight to bed. The Potions Master had a rather unfortunate habit, both for his own physical well-being and for any students, especially Gryffindors, who he caught wandering the corridors past curfew, of strolling through the dark halls at night. 

Meanwhile, that was exactly what Snape was doing. Dumbledore's persistent cheeriness hadn't helped matters any, and it annoyed Snape to no end that Dumbledore could pretend to be a senile old man, when the reality was that the old wizard knew more than anyone Snape knew. He left Dumbledore's office in a rather foul mood, mostly because he had been awake for far too long, but also because he had spoken with Lupin, and damn it all, he just had to go and spill his true feelings to the werewolf. He was angry at himself for letting his guard down, and the fact that he had done so in the company of an ex-Marauder, well, that made everything just all the better. Luckily, Snape didn't need to worry about coming across any students, anyway, for it was summer, and he silently thanked whatever deity was listening. 

He made his way down to the dungeons, blending in quite well with the shadows. His boots clanked upon the old, worn stones beneath him with every long-strided step, echoing down the hallway and off the walls. The air was damp and smelled musky, and all around, this desolate and lonely place was the perfect safe haven for someone like Severus Snape. He rather liked it that way. Strangely enough, though, just as he had briefly broken down his barriers around Lupin previously that night, he had a thought go through his tired mind that tempted him to explore the grounds outside the castle for once. 

There was a small door in the dungeons that few knew about, although the daring student might think it a good way to sneak out of the castle without being caught, that led from the dungeons to the castle grounds. Snape found the said door and used it to venture outdoors. As he quietly closed the door behind him, he looked at the grounds with something next to amazement. He had lived at Hogwarts for fifteen years now and had seen the grounds time and again, but something felt out of place inside the wizard as of late, but he couldn't put his finger on it. He felt the urge to explore. How strange. 

Snape walked along the edge of the lake, taking in the gentle ripples on the water's surface. It was mesmerizing to stand there and stare, to find himself lost in their rhythm, forcing him to draw in and reach for the reason why he been feeling different these past few days. Severus Snape, after all, was not a man who welcomed change. He closed his eyes and turned with the wind, and when he opened his endless eyes again, his gaze was on the Whomping Willow. 

Now that was not a pleasant tree, not just because it was known to attack anyone who came too close to it, but because the tunnel underneath it led to the Shrieking Shack and reminded Snape of a memory he had since tried to forget. For too long, he had held a grudge against the Marauders, but he was forced to finally admit to himself that Lupin, at least, was not to blame. The werewolf could not have been held responsible for his actions had something worse transpired that fateful evening in their youth. But Sirius Black was a force hard to reconcile. Even after the man had passed into the next realm of existence, Snape still wanted to hold on to that grudge. It was something to continue to grasp, anyway. As Lupin had told Harry, everyone has his or her own way of dealing with loss. For Snape, it was to keep the grudge alive. He didn't know what else to hold on to sometimes. 

He shook his head and thinking about Sirius still, muttered, "And you're the one who wound up getting killed first..." 

As Snape continued his post-midnight venture on that calm summer night, he walked toward the Forbidden Forest, noticing that Hagrid's lone hut was quiet and still. The half-giant probably had retired hours ago, as had most people with some sense, Snape mused. How foreboding the surroundings were around that safe haven known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. The forest was uninviting, to say the least, and anyone who had had the misfortune of hiking through its depths knew that people were not welcome there by any of its inhabitants, especially the centaurs. Snape recalled how he had rushed into the Forbidden Forest on that fateful night a couple of weeks prior, searching frantically for any trace or sign of Harry Potter and his rescue squad. If only Harry knew the type of danger Snape put himself in and through to keep Harry alive... 

Or did Harry know? Snape knew full well that Dumbledore always had an annual deep conversation with the boy at the end of each year, but the Headmaster often didn't elaborate on the details to Snape. Snape, after all, wasn't one to openly ask questions, unless he was angry. His usual unpleasantness would much rather relish in the bleak silence of his closed, little world, and maybe that was why Hogwarts, in spite of its tiresome students, was more amicable to Snape than any other place. It, too, was closed off from the rest of the world and seemed to be able to exist quite nicely that way. 

But who was he really fooling? Only himself. How many times since the Dark Lord's resurrection had he been called to join in the Death Eater meetings? The moment the Dark Mark burned with agony on his forearm, he had no choice in the matter but to be automatically and immediately transported to Voldemort. To join forces with the Dark Lord, that was definitely the worst decision of his life, and he damn well knew it, but to divulge his real feelings to others was not something Snape did. Even the Headmaster, though he could read Snape like a child's book, did not often have the opportunity to hear the younger man's confessions of the soul. All this deep thought was quite disconcerting and tiring, though, especially for a man who had insisted on staying up well past the recommended time to go to sleep. 

He yawned in spite of himself and finally gave in to the need for sleep. He had deprived himself for too long. With that, Snape made his way back to the castle and entered through the small door to the dungeons. He skipped his usual nightly ritual of checking the wards on his private stores and proceeded straight to his chamber. The door shut behind him, leaving the rest of the castle still in a mystery as to what really went on behind that particular closed door. 

Meanwhile, Lupin sat alone in a rickety, old shack of a house, though not the infamous Shrieking Shack. He was seated in a rocking chair that creaked with every motion it made as it rocked slowly back and forth in no particular rhythm. Lupin was staring, transfixed, into the flames of the fireplace, watching them as they danced with one another. He shivered, despite both the warmth from the fire and from the general summer air. The circles around his eyes were deeper and more defined at the present moment, and he appeared very sickly and weak. He was thin to begin with, but when the moon was nearly full, his physical body was in worse shape than what was normal for him. Ever since the age of three, poor Lupin had been cursed with the monthly transformations into a werewolf, and he knew the transformations were having an effect on his health. Thankfully, due to Snape's formidable abilities at brewing potions, Lupin had been blessed with a regular dose of Wolfsbane during the past three years or so. He wasn't dangerous to anyone as long as he drank the potion, but still, not only did the potion taste horrible (sugar rendered it useless), but he still had to undergo the transformation from man to wolf. 

He allowed his gaze to wander to the window, and there, high in the sky, the moon was almost completely full. Lupin knew that at any moment now, the transformation would begin. His last thoughts before he changed were those of Sirius and James, his two childhood best friends, who had been understanding of his condition and even gone so far as to become illegal animagi. Peter Pettigrew, the rat, literally, was a much less comforting thought. Lupin smiled wanely as he gave in to his fate, thinking of the friendly black dog and majestic stag. 

A moment later, a wolf jumped down from the chair and curled up on the rug to sleep. There were nothing better to do than sleep the next three days away, and that was exactly what he did. 


	5. Chapter Five

Chapter Five

The heat of the summer continued, and the days passed just like they always had, with Harry oftentimes either hidden away in his bedroom or lying on his back in the gardens behind the house. He would spend hours upon hours in solitude and silence, but he much preferred that to being around the Dursleys. He only endured their unnerving presence during meals, but Harry would devour whatever disgusting, little amount of food that his aunt Petunia had placed in front of him and quickly retreat to his bedroom. Luckily, his uncle Vernon didn't prod him much, so Harry was able to exist with his temper carefully in check. 

Before Harry knew it, July had nearly passed entirely. He awoke on the last day of the month and remembered that today was his sixteenth birthday, just another year older and perhaps another day closer to the impending doom of having to defeat Voldemort. The prophecy had clearly stated that a boy born on the 31st of July would be the one to defeat Voldemort once and for all, and only that said person could do it, no one else. Everyone thought for sure that Harry Potter had to be that boy. After all, he had been marked since the Halloween night after his first year upon this earth, and since then, it would seem that the fate of the whole wizarding world rested upon him, a mere teenage boy who seemingly thought he had no special powers. 

Going to Dudley's old, rickety desk, Harry sifted through the papers. Most of them were old letters he had received from his friends over the past few years, but some summer homework was also in the piles of random papers. Finally, Harry had pushed aside all the clutter and beheld a photo album, the one Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts. Since then, Harry had added various pictures of his friends and himself to the back of it, highlighting both everyday and special moment times of their lives together. 

Opening the book a few pages into itself, Harry's eyes gazed at the page with sadness. It was the picture that had been taken on his parents' wedding day so many years ago. They smiled and waved at him, and Harry weakly returned the smile, but he blinked back the onset of tears all the same. Standing next to his father was of course no one other than Sirius Black. He had been the best man and the best friend ever to James Potter. He, too, smiled at Harry and waved with joy. Sirius's young face was not the one Harry had grown used to in the short time he had known his godfather. The Sirius in the picture appeared innocent and untainted by the ways of the world, and he was a very handsome man with penetrating eyes and a gorgeous smile. His jet black hair was slightly ruffled, but it was on the short side and kept neater than Harry ever remembered seeing Sirius's shaggy, long hair. The Sirius Harry had known had still been a handsome man, but his face had become gaunt from his years in Azkaban, and it had seemed like he had never filled out to a healthy figure again since his escape. His eyes had still been penetrating, but they had oftentimes been sad, and looking into them would make you feel the unsettling emotions Sirius had kept bottled up inside. 

Harry now turned the page and saw a few pictures of Ron, Hermione, and himself, but then he came across a picture that was fairly recent. Taken just last Christmas, Harry was seated on the floor with his godfather, and both of them were smiling with mirth that was appropriate for the season. Sirius had his right arm lovingly around Harry's shoulders, and in the other hand, he held a bottle of Odgen's Firewhiskey. Sirius gently squeezed Harry closer to him, and Harry laughed, playfully punching the older wizard in the ribs. Together, they laughed. Harry then recalled with mixed emotions how happy Sirius had been during the holidays last year. For once in his empty life, he was surrounded by people who he loved and who loved him. His own flesh and blood of a family had never been so. The Weasleys, Lupin, Hermione, and Harry were there at Grimmauld Place to share in the festivities, and Harry's heart leapt inside his chest, knowing that come this Christmas, these things wouldn't be so. What would this year at Hogwarts bring? 

The young wizard pushed his glasses up on his smallish nose and closed the album. The day passed just like all the others, and the Dursleys never so much as begrudgingly wished him a happy birthday. A couple of owls paid him a visit with the usual gifts from Ron and Hermione and a couple of other friends, but Harry just placed them aside and gave them not a second thought. He wanted to see his friends again. He needed to see his friends again. Lupin had not visited him at all since the one time a couple of weeks ago, and besides a couple of letters, he had not heard from Ron or Hermione. Luckily, Harry would be going to the Burrow shortly to spend the rest of the summer there, and for the life of him, he didn't understand why Dumbledore would allow him to spend part of the summer there and not the whole summer. Even though being in the Dursleys' house protected him, as Dumbledore had informed him, Harry thought that even one day outside of the Dursleys' in the summer was a risk, so why not just force him to stay there all summer if he needed to be protected so desperately? 

Thoughts of the O.W.L. results and classes for the upcoming school year now entered Harry's tired mind, and he welcomed them, believe it or not, for it was something to think about besides dwelling on his late godfather. Harry drifted to sleep and didn't remember even dreaming. 

Another whole week passed this way, and then it came: a letter from Ron that asked Harry to come to visit the Burrow in three days. Harry smiled for the first time in what felt to him like forever and prepared his things. He kept a small stock of Floo Powder handy for emergency situations. Ever since Mr. Weasley had accidently destroyed the Dursleys' fireplace a couple of years ago while Flooing in, they had not bothered to close it off completely, lest another incident like that occur while Harry was still living under their roof. Harry informed his aunt and uncle at dinner that evening that he would be leaving in three days. Uncle Vernon merely grunted a response, and Aunt Petunia said nothing. Dudley, however, sneered, "Well, 'tis about time you got your scrawny arse outta here." 

Harry ignored that uncalled for comment and ate the rest of his meal (week-old meatloaf) in silence. He retreated to his room, closed the door, and spent the next three days mostly asleep. Finally, the day had come for Harry to leave this accursed place and head for the Burrow, a household where he felt like another son to Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, only lacking the trademart Weasley red hair. Harry grabbed his bags and Hedwig's cage, and in the early hours of the morning, he headed downstairs as quietly as possible, avoiding the step that creaked. 

Once in the living room, Harry placed his belongings on the carpeted floor on either side of him and reached into his pockets for the Floo Powder. Taking just a pinch, for that was all that was necessary, Harry threw it into the fireplace and said clearly, "The Burrow." Green flames errupted from nowhere, and Harry hastily grabbed his things and jumped into the fireplace. He felt dizzy and out of sorts during the brief transition from here to there, but all too soon, Harry opened his eyes, and behind glasses dirtied with ash, he smiled as he gazed upon a kitchen table full of Weasleys and Hermione. He was now in a much better place. 

The Burrow was the definition of homey through and through. There was clutter here and there spread throughout the whole house, and the floor was composed of well-worn, old wooden floorboards. Dishes were piled up on the kitchen counters, but an enchanted sink was in the process of cleaning them. The morning sunlight was shining in through a small window and lighting up the table where everyone was enjoying a delicious breakfast that had been prepared by Mrs. Molly Weasley. The aroma of sausages, bacon, and eggs filled the air, and as Harry took a step toward the group, welcoming voices yelling, "Hullo, Harry!" filled the cheery atmosphere. 

Mrs. Weasley instantly stood up from her chair and waddled over to Harry. She was a lovable lady in her middle years, a bit on the rounded side, with hair pulled back in a messy bun, an apron ever draped over her patched clothes, and sparkling eyes that every blessed child's mother would have in a perfect world. She immediately began to fuss over Harry, saying, "Harry, dear, do place your things down and come over here to the table and have a seat, will you? Oh, you look so thin. What are they feeding you in that horrible place, or shall I say what aren't they feeding you? Come, come, you need to get something of substance in that skinny body of yours. I shan't have any boy of mine starvin' and going hungry." 

Harry smiled at his second mother and replied, "'Course I'll join you all." 

Taking a seat, Harry was inundated with plates piled high with food from all directions. 

"Have a bit of this, Harry." 

"Here, try this, Harry; it's the best." 

"D'you care for a spot of tea, Harry?" 

"I'll try a little of it all," Harry replied to the group. "And yes, tea would be great." 

The twins, Fred and George, told Harry about all their latest inventions they had created for their joke shop in Hogsmeade, Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Their over-active, humorous imaginations certainly hadn't gone on vacation over the summer months. If anything, they seemed even more enthusiastic about their venture in the joke shop business than ever (if it was even possible for them to be more enthusiastic). Ginny had explained how she had broken up with such-and-such a boy in June and now was dating someone else, and Harry couldn't help but to smile and shake his head at her. Ginny had certainly come out of her shell in the past year or so. Harry recalled how shy the girl had been the first time he had met her four years ago in the very same kitchen. She had grown up, no doubt about it. The older Weasley boys, Bill, Charlies, and Percy were not present, as they all had their own lives to live outside of the Burrow. Percy had still not spoken to his family, despite the fact that the Ministry had been forced to finally believe that Voldemort had indeed returned to power. 

Mr. Weasley was the first to stand up. Turning to Harry, he spoke earnestly, "It was good to see you again, Harry. Must be off to work now, you know. Have a good day, everyone!" 

The thin, balding man waved to the family and headed out the front door. Slowly, the meal came to an end, and Harry soon found himself up in Ron's room with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. The bedroom hadn't changed one bit since Harry had known Ron. Posters of international professional Quidditch teams still covered the walls, and the bed still appeared well-used and old. The ghoul in the attic above them thumped a few times, but Harry had grown accustomed to it. The ghoul was a part of the Burrow, after all, and everything about the Burrow was great to Harry. 

"Oh, it's so good to see you, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, hugging him tightly. "I'd wanted to talk to you the moment I saw you come out of the fireplace, but everyone was so excited that you'd arrived, I had to wait. How are you, anyway?" 

Harry embraced his intelligent friend with the bushy hair and brown eyes with a growing feeling of comfort inside. Being here around his friends was so good for him after having spent his summer alone and depressed. 

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry replied. "Thank you." 

As soon as Harry loosened himself from the embrace, Ron affectionately hit Harry on the back, a kind of hugging that males like to do. "Seriously, mate," he began, a grave expression on his face, "we were worried 'bout you." 

"You seem happy," Ginny remarked. "How did your, er, family react to what happened?" 

"I didn't tell them anything about that," Harry said, stressing the word "that." "It's not like they would have cared to listen, anyway, or offer any kind of support. I'm just glad to be outta there and here with you guys." 

A look of concern crossed over Hermione's face, and she appeared hesitant to ask what she had wanted so badly to ask Harry since Sirius had passed away. 

"Harry," she began slowly, "I don't mean to pry, but how are you dealing with everything since... well, you know... since that night?" 

Ron and Ginny shifted uncomfortably. Ron remembered how upset Harry had been the first time they had seen him last summer, and he feared his friend might explode at them yet again if a touchy subject like losing Sirius was brought up. He felt that Harry shouldn't be afraid to talk about it with his friends, but he certainly wasn't one to push the matter. Hermione, however, usually managed to speak whatever was on her mind, even if she knew she was taking a risk. 

Harry eyed them and sighed heavily. Looking down at his feet clad in Dudley's old shoes, Harry tried not to start crying all over again. 

"How d'you think I'm dealing with it all?" he asked softly. "It hurt like nothing I've ever felt before. Even knowing how my parents died, I was too young to place emotions with it when it happened. Years after the fact, yeah, it hurt, and it made me angry that Voldemort killed them, but I knew Sirius, you know? He was... he was the closest thing I ever had to a father, and now he's gone as well. I kept wondering how many more people I love I would lose before this whole damned thing ends. I don't know if I could bear to lose anyone else..." 

Harry's quiet, quivering voice trailed off into the humid air. No one had even gasped at the name "Voldemort" when Harry had been speaking, for they were too filled with woebegone feelings as Harry finished. No one spoke a solitary word, for they knew that words alone could not and would not heal Harry's wounded heart. Hermione gently reached out and touched Harry's arm, slowly coming closer, until she was clinging to him once again. Ginny shortly followed thereafter, and even though Ron wasn't one to give out hugs, he, too, joined in the group hug. They just sat there, locked into one large embrace for a long time. Finally, they pulled apart. Harry wiped a small tear away from the corner of his eye behind his glasses and said in the most sincere voice possible, "Thank you all so much." 

Suddenly, Mrs. Weasley's loud voice echoed through the hallway outside the closed door, proclaiming, "Kids, your letters from Hogwarts with your books for next year have arrived! And so have your O.W.L. scores!" 

Harry, Hermione, and Ron exchanged nervous looks at the mention of the O.W.L.s, and they all darted down the stairs, anxious to find out how they had performed on the fifth year tests. 

Upon reaching the bottom of the stairs, the three of them practically pounced poor, unsuspecting Mrs. Weasley in their haste to grab the rolled parchments out of her hands. Ginny was less in a hurry, since all she had to read over was her list of books for the upcoming year, which was nothing new. Hermione was probably the most anxious, being the studious, intelligent one of the trio. She prompty ripped open the seal on the parchment and unrolled it, her eyes quickly reading over the O.W.L.s she had received and the marks on each one. 

"I- I can't believe it," she gasped. "I've received the highest marks in all the O.W.L.s we took. I was so worried I'd get an E on at least one of them." 

Ron rolled his eyes, remarking, "Like you needed to worry 'bout anything, Hermione. Looks like I haven't done too shabby, myself." He examined the paper more thoroughly. "I managed to pass them all, including Potions, believe it or not. Must've been 'cause Snape wasn't giving the test." 

"That's very good, Ron," Hermione replied. She paused and then looked at Harry, who was regarding his own scores intently. Ron, too, turned to face Harry, awaiting the news of his performance. 

"Well?" Ron finally asked when Harry remained silent. 

Harry's eyes were glued to the paper in front of him, and his mouth hung open slightly. Hermione stepped closer to him and persisted, "Harry, what is it? Tell us, please. How did you do?" 

"I- I passed them all, too," Harry finally managed, "but McGonagall told me when I met with her about the career advice that I would need an O in Potions to be accepted into the advanced levels, and to be an Auror, I need to take Potions my last two years at Hogwarts. Looks like my dreams are foiled... all thanks to lousy, ol' Snape. Like I'd ever get an O in Potions, anyway." 

Harry's brow furrowed in disappointment and frustration. He had received high enough marks in all his other necessary subjects to take them during his sixth and seventh years, but Potions remained the limiting factor. He should have known that Snape would never let him do anything that would ever make him happy, or at least that was how he felt. 

"Hey," Ron said, trying to sound encouraging, "at least you don't have to take Potions with the git. Isn't that something to look forward to? I won't be sittin' in any more Potions lectures for the rest of my time at Hogwarts." 

"Hmph," Harry muttered. "As much as I would love to avoid that... man, I would have endured a couple more years of him to be an Auror. Hell, he's already proven himself right on account of my father and Sirius. Now he can glow with happiness over the fact that I won't become an Auror." 

"Harry," Hermione began, "surely you don't believe that. I know you don't like him, but-" 

"No, Hermione," Harry disagreed firmly, "I hate him. Do you understand what I'm saying? I hate Snape, nothing else. Not liking him was my first year at Hogwarts, but now, five years later, the torch has moved into the 'hating' category. He likes to see me suffer, all so he can get his jollies." 

"Exactly," Ron quickly agreed. 

Hermione sighed and turned away, saying softly, "You think no one understands your position, Harry, but you're wrong... Snape may understand it better than even Ron or I do. He's been face to face with Voldemort-" 

"D'you have to say his bloody name?" chided Ron. 

"Yes, Ron, yes, I do. Harry's not afraid of it, so why should I be? Anyway, my point is-" 

"Enough, already!" Harry suddenly exploded, throwing his arms up in the air. "I don't want to talk about Snape!" 

Harry began to approach the stairway to head upstairs, but Hermione tried to stop him, pleading, "Harry, wait-" 

"No! Just leave me alone, Hermione... You, too, Ron... You don't understand a thing, so don't act like you do." 

Harry stomped up the stairs and out of sight, slamming the door shut. The whole time, Ginny had watched in stunned silence as the argument blossomed and grew before her. She sighed, shook her head, and went to her own room, leaving Ron and Hermione to themselves. 

"What is his problem?" Ron questioned angrily. "You had to go and start up, didn't you, Hermione?" 

"Just stop it, Ron," she replied, sitting down in one of the chairs at the table. "He needs to come to his own understanding in his own terms. It doesn't matter what you or I think is best for him." 

Ron glared at Hermione and released a sigh of defeat, sitting down next to her. "I hate how you're always right." 

Hermione just wryly grinned. 


	6. Chapter Six

Chapter Six

The circumstances called for an irritated scowl from the Potions Master. The summer had passed too quickly once again, and now a mere two weeks were remaining before the start of the next school year. Upon waking up that particular morning, Snape had been graced with a note of request from Dumbledore that he see him in his office for an informal lunch. After reading the short note that had been written in Dumbledore's loopy handwriting, Snape scribbled a quick, terse response, begrudgingly agreeing to be there. The morning hours were spent preparing ingredients that the students would need for the upcoming term and working on the syllabi for the various levels. Too soon, only a quarter of an hour remained before noon. 

Snape sighed and shook his head in an annoyed manner, closed the ledger in which he had been writing, and stood up from his desk. He quickly strode to the door, closing it firmly, and set it with the what he felt were absolutely necessary wards, finally leaving his office to head for the Headmaster's office. The dungeons were ever damp and on the chilly side, despite the heat and humidity of the summer air outside, but as Snape ascended the stairway to the first level, the air soon changed. He would be more content once the weather cooled to temperatures that were more comfortable for a man who wore black robes, black trousers, a black jacket, and black boots every single day of the year, regardless of the weather conditions. 

Upon reaching the gargoyle, Snape sneered as he muttered the appropriate password of "ginger snaps." The revolving, rising stairway set into motion with Snape standing on it, and the door to Dumbledore's office appeared. With just one knock, the door opened when Dumbledore waved his arm toward it to let the younger wizard enter. The first thing, or more like person, that Snape regarded upon coming into the room added to his agitated mood. Sitting opposite of Albus Dumbledore was none other than the Deputy Headmistress and Head of Gryffindor House, Minerva McGonagall. 

"Well, are you going to join us?" questioned Dumbledore lightly, noticing that Snape was still standing by the doorway. "Do pull up a chair and enjoy a nice meal with us, Severus." 

Snape walked toward the duo and nodded to McGonagall and sat down, facing Dumbledore, saying, "I wasn't aware that you would have company, Albus." 

"Oh, do you mean Minerva?" the Headmaster asked, acting like he was going senile, which Snape knew all too well was completely untrue. 

Snape rolled his eyes in response, and McGonagall laughed softly, replying in a slightly amused tone of voice, "Why, had I known you wanted to be alone with the Headmaster, Severus, I would have declined his kind invitation for lunch. I assume you were invited, too?" 

"No," began Snape sarcastically, "I just decided to ditch my usual routine of taking my lunch by myself in rather pleasant solitude and join a couple of Gryffindor know-it-alls, only to amuse them with my bright and cheery attitude." 

The dripping sarcasm which Snape was displaying only adding to the amusement of Dumbledore and McGonagall, but after a few moments, Snape sighed. "I give up," he admitted. "What do you want?" 

"I thought you would never ask," replied Dumbledore innocently, but Snape just ate in silence, not wanting to give the Headmaster any more bait for his jollies. 

"Well," McGonagall began in a very matter-of-fact tone, "as you know, Severus, each Head of House had to meet with their fifth year students toward of the end last term to discuss possible plans for their future careers. Mr. Potter expressed a genuine interest in becoming an Auror, and I have to admit, it would be the perfect job for him. He is especially talented in Defense Against the Dark Arts, and his O.W.L. score in that subject reflects that very well. I informed him that there are other subjects that are also very important for his studies if he indeed wanted to pursue a career as an Auror. Charms, Transfiguration, and Potions are those subjects. He received good enough marks on his O.W.L.s in both Charms and Transfiguration, but the limiting factor right now is in the subject of Potions. Now, I am not normally one to make exceptions, but Mr. Potter is not just any student, and there is no telling how much longer it will be before he will be able to defeat You-Know-Who once and for all, so Mr. Potter's choice of Auror is perfect for his role that he has been given without his choice. I realize that you hold extremely high standards for your upper level Potions classes, Severus, and I do respect that, but Mr. Potter managed to receive an E in Potions, which in both my opinion and Albus's opinion is more than a good enough score for him to be qualified for Advanced Potions. We wanted to bring this to your attention and discuss your opinions on the matter, hence the lunch that Albus so kindly arranged for today." 

McGonagall kept her face even and her eyes on Snape, gauging for a reaction. She expected him to not be pleased with the request, but she had promised Harry that she would do anything in her power to make sure that he would become an Auror. Snape had listened carefully and intently to the whole deliverance of the proposal, and McGonagall was right; he didn't like it, not one bit. 

"So," he replied in a deadly quiet voice, "the Famous Harry Potter is above the rules, and an exception is to be made for him yet again. I find it horrifically amusing how time and again since his arrival at Hogwarts that Mr. Potter has been granted special privileges simply because of who he is. I, on the other hand, have tried to treat him no differently than I treat any other student. Why should I make an exception now, Minerva?" 

Snape's black eyes bore into her own, and McGonagall become quite cross at once at Snape's blatant refusal. "You won't even consider it, will you? I should not be surprised, of course, but don't you dare sit there and tell me that you treat him just like you would any student. We all know that you show favoritism to your over-valued Slytherins." 

That last remark had pushed Snape's temper over the edge of the cliff, and things were all downhill from there. "How dare you accuse me of such nonsense!" he exclaimed, standing up. "I will not sit here a moment longer and listen to this rubbish." 

Snape started for the door in a hurry, but Dumbledore, despite his age, moved quicker and blocked that doorway. He fixed Snape with a very grave face. 

"Kindly move out of my way, Headmaster," Snape demanded, glaring at the old man. 

"Sit down, Severus," Dumbledore replied sternly, "and do not show another display like that again in my office today." 

For a few moments, Snape and Dumbledore continued to glare at each other, neither one wanting to back down, but in the end, Snape knew that he owed the Headmaster his respect, so simply out of respect for the old wizard, Snape scowled and reluctantly returned to his seat. Dumbledore resumed his seated position as well and took a deep breath before continuing. 

"Please, Severus," Dumbledore practically pleaded, "will you at least listen to her reasoning?" 

"What difference does my opinion make, anyway?" sneered Snape, avoiding eye contact with either of the other individuals who were seated around that small table filled with half-eaten food. "What difference has my opinion ever really made, Albus? Kindly answer me that." 

McGonagall sat there in utter silence and regarded Snape carefully, but her gaze turned to Dumbledore as the wise, old wizard spoke. "You know that is not true, Severus," he tried to gently assure the younger man. "I value your opinion on many issues when it comes to Hogwarts and how it is to be run. If I had no respect for your thoughts on such matters, I would not ask you for your opinions. I would not have asked for your presence here today if I didn't think your input mattered." 

"You know quite well how I feel about making exceptions for Harry Potter," Snape replied softly, his eyes downcast, "but you are the Headmaster, after all, so if you feel the Potter boy should be granted the permission to take Advanced Potions against my approval, then by all means, Albus, be my guest... go right ahead, but do not expect me to like it or to cater to the boy when his performance in my classes falls below what I consider acceptable marks to be kept in my class." 

"I will not do anything to go against your wishes, Severus," Dumbledore stressed. "This is your subject, and these are your classes, after all, but I ask you once again to please consider Minerva's request." 

In his chair, Snape slumped over and sighed long and deeply. He rubbed the bridge of his nose in annoyance, feeling a headache coming on strongly. He feared he would need to resort to some type of medication later, if not immediately after this little meeting was adjourned. Finally, after several minutes in silence had passed, he looked up and fixed his eyes squarely on McGonagall. 

"I am warning you now, Minerva, if I let the boy into Advanced Potions, that will be the only bending of the rules I will make. If Mr. Potter proves less than able to commit to the demands of an upper level class, which I am quite sure will be the case, I will not hesitate for one minute to drop him right out of my classes. Do I make myself exceedingly clear?" 

"Yes, Severus," McGonagall replied, feeling relief rush over her. "So are you saying you will allow Mr. Potter to take Advanced Potions?" 

"Very well, yes, Mr. Potter may take Advanced Potions, but remember what I have told you. The minute that boy comes running to you, telling you how unfair and cruel I have been, you will tell him that he had his chance and that I have already been more than accommodating." 

"Thank you, thank you, Severus," she said, flushing a bit. 

"Do not thank me just yet, Minerva." 

"Well, I am quite pleased that we have resolved that little issue," Dumbledore interjected with the merriment back in his tone. "Now, Minerva, if you wouldn't mind, may Severus and I have a moment, please?" 

"Of course, Albus," the witch responded, standing up and pushing her chair back in with ease. 

She left the room, and Dumbledore faced Snape with a glittery smile plastered to his aged face, his blue eyes sparkling behind his half-moon spectacles. Snape felt rather unnerved by the Headmaster's glaringly jovial expression that he was sending in his direction, and he tried his best to avoid saying anything biting. Rather, Snape picked up his cup of coffee, and taking a small sip, he noticed that it had cooled considerably, so he reached for the pot and refilled it. He absently stirred a bit of cream into it, took another sip, and finally placed it back down on the saucer. 

When Snape dared to look at Dumbledore's face again, the aged wizard was no longer smiling as if he had lost his mind completely. Now, he smiled contentedly, but his brow was creased, as if he were concerned about something. Snape couldn't take another moment of sitting in this unsettling silence, so he muttered, "What is it, sir?" 

"Severus," sighed Dumbledore heavily, "I just wanted to say thank you for allowing Harry to take Advanced Potions. I know it wasn't easy for you to agree to our request, but-" 

"No, Headmaster, it was far from easy; let me assure you," mumbled Snape with distaste coating his every word. "You knew full well inviting me here what you were intending to ask. Why do you always have to make such an occasion of these types of things?" 

Dumbledore shook his head, now clearly showing signs of concern on his ancient features. "It is not that Minerva and I enjoy asking such things of you, but I have unfortunately had to ask much more trying things of you, Severus. Do you know how difficult it is for me to ask of you what I do, knowing you may not return, knowing you very well might wind up killed by Voldemort?" 

Snape visibly cringed at the mention of the Dark Lord's name, saying, "Do you have to say that filthy creature's bloody name, for heaven's sake, Albus?" 

"I am sorry," Dumbledore sincerely apologized, then continued, placing a hand gently on Snape's shoulder, "but I worry about you." 

"Don't," Snape retorted, but his tone lacked much of its usual bite. "I don't need to be pitied." 

Dumbledore shook his head sadly and delicately squeezed Snape's shoulder with the hand he had rested there. "It is not pity, and you know that, young man. It is called concern, compassion, caring, but it is not pity. Is an old man not allowed to be concerned for your well-being, Severus?" 

"You can be if you so choose it, but you're wasting your time, Albus," Snape said softly, looking away in shame. 

"Never say that again," replied Dumbledore firmly. "Now you look at me, Severus. Come now, look at me straight in the eyes." 

For a while, Snape refused to gaze into Dumbledore's gentle, forgiving eyes, for he knew it would tear him apart inside to look at the old man's eyes and know that Dumbledore loved him like a father loved his son. He didn't feel worthy of such love, and as much as he tried to deny it, that refusal didn't stop Dumbledore from being an ever-present source of comfort. Finally, Snape moved his gaze from the floor to Dumbledore's face, and in Snape's dark eyes, all the old man could see was emptiness and so much desperation. 

Dumbledore moved his hand from Snape's shoulder and brought it to Snape's younger hands, bringing his aged other hand there as well, and enclosing the torn man's hands in his own. "You don't have to prove yourself to me, Severus," he began in the most earnest voice possible. "You already did a long time ago. I know it is not easy for you to see Harry Potter receiving so much recognition simply because he is the Boy Who Lived when you have been doing so much behind the scenes, never once receiving the recognition you deserve, but I have been watching all these years. The boy will one day realize just what you sacrifice." 

Snape didn't say anything, because despite what Dumbledore told him, Snape didn't want to believe any of it. His life was one of guilt for past decisions that he had been forced to live to regret, and the only hope that really kept him going was atonement for his bad choices, hoping that working for the Order and for Dumbledore would only prove its worth once Voldemort was defeated permanently. His eyes shown brightly with unshed tears, but he refused to let them fall, especially in front of someone else. After Dumbledore had finished speaking, Snape slowly dropped his head, hiding his face behind curtains of black hair, hiding from the world. 

Some time later, Dumbledore's voice nearly scared the wits out of Snape when the old man said gently, "You may go now, Severus. I won't keep you." 

Snape tried to manage a weak smile and nodded, standing up from his seat. He walked slower than usual to the door, and just as he placed his hand on the knob, Snape turned to face the Headmaster, saying almost inaudibly, "Thank you, Albus." 

Before Dumbledore could reply, Snape opened the door and left the Headmaster to his private thoughts. 

* * * * *

Just under two weeks before school started and Harry was enjoying sleeping in while he still could. A few days ago, the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry had made a trip to Diagon Alley, where they purchased their books and supplies for the quickly approaching school year. Harry slowly came to terms with the fact that he wouldn't be able to become an Auror, so he pushed thoughts out of his mind for the time being regarding what he would do after Hogwarts. 

The sun was already high in the sky that day, and Harry was still lying in bed. A sudden knock from the door woke him with a start. He grabbed his glasses off the nightstand next to him and asked, "Yes? Who is it?" 

"It's me, Ginny," replied a muffled voice on the other side of the door. "Can I come in?" 

"Er... sure," Harry said, making sure he was dressed enough. He was wearing his pajamas, so he figured it would be all right for Ginny to enter. Ron was already awake and out of the bedroom, so as Ginny came into the room, Harry and she were alone. 

"Good morning," she smiled. "Of course, it's almost afternoon by now. Have you had a nice nap?" she teased. 

"Very funny, Ginny," Harry mused sarcastically. "Is there something you wanted?" 

"This just came for you by owl post," she replied matter-of-factly, holding out a rolled piece of paper. 

"Thanks," Harry muttered, reaching for the said paper. Unrolling the parchment, Harry's eyes nearly bulged out of their stockets. "I- I don't believe it," he said, astonished. 

"What?" Ginny asked nervously. "What is it?" 

"It's a letter from Professor McGonagall with an additional book on it that I'll be needing for a class that I've just been approved to take..." 

"That's a bit vague, don't you think?" Ginny asked, annoyed. "What book and what class?" 

"Advanced Potions," Harry replied, awe-struck. "Snape must've approved... but I thought..." 

"Don't ask questions, Harry. This is good, right? I mean, you'll be able to become an Auror, after all!" exclaimed Ginny. "Oh, I can't wait for you to tell the others!" 

Harry smiled, still in disbelief. Maybe things were finally looking up after weeks of being in the lowest valleys of depression. 


	7. Chapter Seven

Chapter Seven

The month of August had grown late, and as the days slowly shortened, Harry and his friends knew that their days before school started again were severely numbered. It was late afternoon that day a week before September 1, which always marked that start of the new school year, and Harry, Ron, Ginny, and the Weasley twins were on their broomsticks playing a makeshift game of Quidditch. Ginny was hoping to make the team as a Chaser the upcoming year, and both Harry and Ron would no doubt be continuing their positions as Seeker and Keeper, respectively. Harry was really looking forward to being able to play Quidditch again, especially after being banned unfairly during his fifth year by that horrible Umbridge woman. 

As Harry swept through the sky on his Firebolt, he wondered who would be new to the team. All of the Chasers and both of the Beaters had been in their seventh year last year, so almost a whole new team would be playing for Gryffindor. Harry also thought about how honored he would feel if he were to be made Captain of the Gryffindor Quidditch team, for he now was the one with the most experience. This sport was an important part of his life to him, probably because, while playing Quidditch and flying about on his broom, he could feel free from the restraints that had been so tightly placed on him. He felt like any other boy his age; for a wizard boy, that is. 

"C'mon, Harry!" Ron exclaimed jovially, taunting his best friend. "You can do better than that!" 

"I'd like to see you try to catch the Snitch, Ron!" Harry yelled back, laughing. 

Just as Harry finished speaking, a golden glint caught his eye off to the far right. He maneuvered his broom in the right direction and took off after the Snitch, racing after the little, winged ball. He came up quickly on it, for this Snitch wasn't as top-of-the-line as the one at Hogwarts, and grasped it firmly with his right hand. 

"Got it!" he called. "Game's over!" 

Hermione had been watching from the ground the whole time, and as Harry landed, she gave him a quick hug and said, "Well done, Harry." 

"'Bout time, mate," Ron teased, playfully smacking Harry on the back. "Gee, I'm hungry. I wonder when Mum is gonna have dinner ready." 

Fred, George, and Ginny were talking amongst themselves as Mrs. Weasley came out the front door and announced, "Dinner's ready!" 

"All right!" Ron and his brothers replied, acting as if they had been starved for days. 

The group of teenagers followed Mrs. Weasley prompty into the kitchen, where she instructed them to wash up a bit before she would allow them to be seated at _her_ table. They hastily removed their muddy shoes and proceeded to the sink, where they all fought over the water and a solitary bar of soap. Soon enough, everyone was seated around the table to experience yet another delicious meal by Mrs. Weasley. Harry seriously thought she should have been a professional cook as he took a bite of his Cornish hen. The flavor was decadent and savory, mouth watering with every bite. The juices of the tender meat practically melted in Harry's mouth as he reached for his glass of ice-cold pumpkin juice. 

As the meal went underway, Mrs. Weasley and Mr. Weasley exchanged glances and then both regarded Harry intently. At first, Harry didn't realize that they were staring at him, but as he reached for the butter across the table a bit, his green eyes caught notice of his surrogate parents' eyes on him. 

"Harry," Mr. Weasley finally said, clearing his throat, "we've something important to tell you." 

"Now, I don't want the rest of you lot making a fuss out of the matter," Mrs. Weasley intoned in her best motherly voice to the others at the table. 

The others looked first at Mrs. Weasley questioningly, but then all eyes were on Harry. Harry was rapidly becoming nervous with all the sudden attention, and he wished the timing would have been better on Mr. and Mrs. Weasleys' parts. 

"Er, okay," Harry finally replied hesitantly. "What... what is it?" 

"There's an Order meeting tonight, Harry," Mr. Weasley began. "We meant to tell you earlier, but somehow, we didn't have the chance to tell you until now. Anyway, Professor Dumbledore has sent us a letter that informed us to tell you that you will now be attending Order meetings regularly. I realize that last year you hadn't been in attendance, and usually, no underage wizards are allowed to sit in on Order meetings, but it has become very obvious as of late, to Dumbledore and the rest of the Order, that your presence is necessary. You play the most important role in the war against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named." 

Harry was completely silent as he tried to take all this new information in. He had to practically beg last summer to be given any information whatsoever from the Order when he had arrived at Grimmauld Place... Grimmauld Place... He was not sure how he would react to being there again. He hadn't been there since Sirius had passed away, after all. Harry also recalled how Dumbledore had admitted to his own shortcomings, in that he hadn't told Harry everything from day one at Hogwarts. Dumbledore must have pushed to allow Harry to be a part of the Order, but other than Snape, Harry didn't think the other Order members would have objected. Harry's countenance darkened at the thought of seeing Snape there, which was seeing him a week earlier than he would have liked. 

Before Harry could say one word, though, Ron stood up and objected outwardly, "But that's not fair! Why should Harry be allowed to go and not us? We've been fightin' by his side, too, ya know!" 

"Ron, just sit down," Hermione insisted as Ginny glared at her brother. 

"No, Ron's right!" Fred exclaimed. "George and I are old enough, aren't we, Mum?" 

"Well, that is true," Mr. Weasley replied. "Molly, the twins are old enough to be Order members if they so choose." 

Mrs. Weasley looked at the twins sternly and said, "Yes, you are both old enough, but are you mature enough? You must realize just what you will be committing yourselves to, don't you? The members of the Order are sworn to secrecy, so anything, and I mean anything, you hear must be kept completely confidential." 

"Yeah, yeah, we get it," George insisted. 

"Yep, no leakiness here," Fred added, smiling wryly. 

"Well, I suppose," their mother sighed with defeat. 

"Great!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed. "Now, Harry, getting back to the matter at hand, you will be expected to attend the meeting tonight. Do you understand?" 

Harry suddenly felt resentment build up inside of him, for he realized that the only reason the Order had made an exception in his case was simply because he was the Boy Who Lived. He had grown tired of always being the exception, and he was angry that no exceptions would be made for his friends. 

"Right," he muttered. "Order meeting. Required. I'll be there." 

"All right, then," Mr. Weasley smiled, trying his best to ignore Harry's apparent dissatisfaction with the whole situation. "Molly, looks like we're just about finished here. How 'bout bringing that lovely cherry cobbler out you made for dessert?" 

The rest of the meal somehow managed to pass in silence, for perhaps everyone was too shocked beyond words to utter anything. Harry had lost his appetite, and despite the fact that Mrs. Weasley could very well boast the best cherry cobbler in the country if she wanted, Harry barely tasted it as he picked through his plate. He managed to eat the entire piece he was given but had only done so out of courtesy to Mrs. Weasley. 

Fred and George were the first to leave the table, standing up hastily without saying anything, and as they ran off up the stairs to their bedroom, Mrs. Weasley yelled after them, "Next time you'll do yourselves well to excuse yourselves from the dinner table!" 

"Sorry, Mum!" Fred called back, a hint of excitement in his voice. 

"But we're gettin' ready for the meeting!" added George. 

"And just what, pray, does 'getting ready' imply?" questioned their mum suspiciously, but they were already gone and doing whatever it was they had up their sleeves. 

Mrs. Weasley turned to her husband and muttered, "Those boys will turn me gray before the year is out, I swear it. I do hope you realize what your sons are getting into now that they've decided to join the Order." 

"They'll be fine, Molly," Mr. Weasley replied, smiling. "Now, Harry, I would like you to gather up some parchment, ink, and a quill. Best to place them in a bag and keep them with you. There'll be a lot of information said tonight at the meeting, and you'll want to remember it." 

"Right," Harry replied, standing up from the table. He stood there, pushing his chair in. "Er... am I excused?" 

Mrs. Weasley, who was preoccupied with clearing the table, looked up at Harry and said, "Oh, well... yes, of course, Harry, dear. Go on, then; get your things and be back by a quarter to the hour." 

Harry nodded and went up to Ron's bedroom, where he was joined shortly by Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Ron slumped into the room and fell back on the bed, sighing exasperately. Hermione and Ginny sat down on the floor at the foot of the bed and eyed Harry as he packed the things he would be needing for tonight. 

"Ron," Hermione said, rolling her eyes, "stop making such a git out of yourself. Harry, are you all right?" She regarded her friend with concern etched clearly all over her face as Ron grunted from the bed. 

Harry looked up from the bag in which he had placed his things and sighed at his friends. "It's nothing," he muttered. 

"It's nothing, huh?" Ginny asked sarcastically. "Really? Well, I guess we'll just all go away and leave you alone, then." 

"No," Harry replied. "Look, I'm sorry, but what am I supposed to think? Last year, I was too young, but I was still the Boy Who Lived, and hella difference that made then. Surely, y'all remember that." 

"Of course we do, Harry," said Hermione reassuringly, "but you are getting the chance now to be a part of the Order of the Phoenix. I mean, wow, do you realize just what this means?" 

"Yeah, it means that I'm finally 'good enough' to be a part of it, I guess," Harry mumbled bitterly. 

"It's still not fair," complained Ron. "D'you know what I'd give to be there with you, Harry?" 

"Don't say that, Ron," Harry replied, sighing. "Look, it's best you guys just stay here. I promise to fill you in on what I can, even though I'm sure I'll be sworn to secrecy or whatever." 

"I suppose," admitted Ron reluctantly. 

"Oh, look at the time! You'd best be going!" Hermione exclaimed as her eyes wandered to her watch. 

Harry stood up and simply said, "Yeah, I guess so. Well, wish me luck." 

"Good luck," three voices uttered in unison. 

Harry left Ron's room and proceeded down the stairs to meet Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and the twins in the kitchen. Harry suddenly panicked when he realized that they would probably be apparating there, and he didn't know how to apparate. He wasn't even old enough to have an apparation license. 

"Er, not to sound stupid," he began, "but how were you planning on getting there? I can't apparate." 

"Oh, 'tis not a problem, dear," Mrs. Weasley assured him. "We'll just travel by Floo, see?" She reached for a pinch of Floo powder and threw it into the fireplace, exclaiming, "Number twelve, Grimmauld Place!" 

Green flames errupted from nowhere and engulfed her form. Mr. Weasley and the twins followed, leaving Harry the last one to travel via the Floo Network. Harry remembered how terrible his first experience with Floo had been and how he had wound up in Knockturn Alley instead of Diagon Alley. That experience four years ago had occurred from the Weasleys' fireplace, so Harry was just a bit apprehesive when he reached tentatively for a handful of Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace. He made sure that he clearly pronounced 'Number twelve, Grimmauld Place,' and then he found himself experiencing the unpleasantly disorienting feeling of traveling by this particular method. When Harry found himself a moment later standing in the living room of Grimmauld Place, he breathed a sigh of relief and smiled wearily at the Weasleys who were standing their in front of him. 

"This way, dear," Mrs. Weasley explained, gently leading Harry in the necessary direction. 

As they walked through the house, Harry tried hard not to think about his memories from the place. Despite the fact that the Weasleys, Hermione, and Harry had helped Sirius clean the aged house up some the past year, it had fallen once again into a state of disrepair. They hadn't managed to make the house look new again, for it needed a lot of work, but it had been cleaner at any rate. Harry noticed that the picture of Sirius's late mother had been removed from the wall, and in its place all that remained was a square on the wall that was lighter than the rest of the surface from where the picture had hung for so many years. They continued past the heads of the Black family's house elves from generations past, and Harry thought about Kreacher, wondering why that wretched creature's head wasn't plastered to a mounting board on the wall yet. No mention had been made of the vile house elf, and Harry didn't see him anywhere. He thought that he would probably take it upon himself to strangle the little beast if he did see him. 

Paint was peeling off the walls, and cracks were evident all over the plaster of both the ceiling and the walls. The floorboards were loose and creaked, and the once polished wood was worn down from years of traffic. The furniture was threadbare and had springs sticking out, and for the life of him, Harry didn't understand why they were even still meeting here. With Sirius dead, they should have chosen another place. For Harry's sake, they really, really should have chosen another place. 

Harry blinked a couple of times as he saw the kitchen table and recalled the meals he had eaten with Sirius and his friends there. He looked with utter sadness at the fireplace in the kitchen, remembering the conversation he had had with Lupin and Sirius about his own father and Snape after seeing one of Snape's adolescent memories in the Pensieve and how later he had begged Kreacher for Sirius's whereabouts after he had had that horrific vision of Voldemort harming and threatening Sirius in the Department of Mysteries. It was all too much for Harry to bear. 

Luckily, they were now entering the room where the meeting would be held. Harry sat down next to Mrs. Weasley and stared around the room at some familiar faces. Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody, Nymphadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Dedalus Diggle, Elphias Doge, Hestia Jones, Emmeline Vance, Mundungus Fletcher, among others from the Ministry were all there, but Harry didn't see Remus Lupin or Dumbledore yet, nor did he see Snape. He cringed at the very thought of seeing the Potions Master again, but it was only minutes from the beginning of the next meeting. 

Fred and George were busy whispering between themselves, and whatever it was that they had planned, Harry was sure that if Mrs. Weasley found out, she wouldn't be pleased. Harry looked at her for any sign that she had taken notice of her two overly creative sons, but she seemed content enough. Suddenly, Harry heard a familiar voice on the other side of him say with false surprise, "Well, if it isn't Harry Potter." 

Harry turned to face Lupin and smiled at his friend, replying, "Hullo, Remus... I was wondering when you would show up." 

"Better a little late than never, eh, Harry?" he winked. "It's good to see you again. How are things?" 

"Things are," Harry paused, his eyes following Professors Dumbledore and Snape as they entered the room, "fine." 

Lupin just nodded and turned then to face the others who were present. Harry saw Dumbledore take a seat near the center of the room, where Harry figured the old wizard would be able to see everyone best. Snape, on the other hand, sat away from the crowd as much as he possibly could. Away from the warmth of the fireplace and away from the windows, he was alone in a corner, a trademark sneer plastered to his features. Harry wondered why Dumbledore tolerated the man's presence so much. 

"Are we ready to begin?" Dumbledore announced, followed by many murmured "yeses." "All right, then. I would like to introduce our newest Order member to you all. I am quite sure that you all know who Harry Potter is by now, and I am honored to have him as a part of the Order." While Dumbledore was speaking, his eyes came to rest upon the Weasley twins, and he smiled pleasantly. "Oh, and do beg my pardon. It appears that we have two more new members are well. It is my pleasure to welcome Fred and George Weasley to the Order in addition to Harry Potter. Now, to business." 

Dumbledore stopped speaking, and silence loomed about the room. Harry reached for his supplies, making sure his paper and quill were ready. He didn't want to miss a moment of the meeting. He listened anxiously for someone to speak, and to his surprise and dismay, a soft, low voice came from the shadowy corner of the room, the corner that housed Snape. 

"I regret to inform you all that there is nothing new to report since the last meeting," Snape began, not looking at anyone else. "There has not been a Death Eater meeting since mid-July, but if my instincts are right, the Dark Lord will no doubt be calling his followers together before the start of the new school year at Hogwarts. He will want to discuss his plans for the next year, as this has been how he has operated in years past. I will keep you informed on the latest news I find out." 

His impassive voice halted, and then Dumbledore spoke once again. "Thank you, Severus. As for the Ministry, they are now forced to believe that Voldemort has indeed returned. I cannot emphasize enough the implications of this. I realize that I spoke about this during the last meeting, but since July, Cornelius Fudge has done nothing to ensure the protection of the wizarding community. It is my conscious belief that there are many people working for and in the Ministry who have connections to Voldemort and who could even be Death Eaters." 

As the Headmaster of Hogwarts spoke about Voldemort and said his cursed name, several people in the room visibly flinched. Apparently, Snape was not the only person who didn't like to hear the name and who was a part of the Order. A part of Harry wanted to laugh at them for being afraid of the very name, for it was just a name to him, but Harry remained quiet and kept up his note-taking as best as he could. 

Several other people spoke about recent developments in the Ministry and suspicious activity, but nothing really had any definite leads. Everything seemed so ambiguous to Harry as he listened intently, and by the end of the meeting, he felt like his head was spinning. He thought he was leaving the room with more questions than he had when he entered. Harry found himself standing up and walking toward the door, wanting nothing more than to go to sleep. As he walked out the doorway, he felt someone brush past him. Harry glanced at the back of Snape as the older wizard made his way hastily past the crowd. 

Harry couldn't resist the urge as he muttered, "Excuse you." 

Snape heard him. Stopping dead in midstride, Snape wheeled around to face Harry, sending a loathing glare in his direction. Everyone else filtered past them, leaving the two of them standing there, face to face. Finally, Snape said sardonically, "Well, if it isn't the Famous Harry Potter, who yet another exception has been made for. I suppose you're overjoyed to be a part of the honorable Order of the Phoenix now." 

Harry tried to return the glare with just as much hatred, but he didn't think he would ever be able to master that trademark Snape glare, complete with the twisting sneer. 

"Funny to hear that coming from you," Harry retorted with just as much sarcasm coating his words. "It would seem you made an exception yourself, Professor, by allowing me into your Advanced Potions class." 

Snape came closer to Harry and hissed, "Trust me when I say, Mr. Potter, that it was against my wishes. You can graciously thank Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall for that. See you next week in Advanced Potions, Potter. I daresay this year shall prove... interesting." 

Before Harry could respond, Snape had turned on his heel and strode straight out the front door. He was about to take another step when the Dark Mark on his left forearm suddenly writhed with excruciating pain, and as he grabbed hold of it, closing his eyes in agony, he soon opened them again to find himself in a dark place, face to face with none other than Voldemort. 


	8. Chapter Eight

Chapter Eight

Perhaps the first thing Snape felt when he arrived so unexpectedly in the Dark Lord's presence was the sudden drop in temperature. It was a late summer's night, yet it felt significantly cooler than was normal for that time of year. Looking around himself, Snape noticed he was standing in some kind of cavern, probably hidden away from civilization in the mountains somewhere. The chilly air sent a tingle up his spine, and trying to keep his composure calm and nonchalant, Snape regarded Voldemort, bowing formally. 

Voldemort smiled wickedly down at Snape's thin form, his mouth twisted into a truly grotesque smirk. His red eyes emitted a dull glow in the darkness, a stark contrast to his white, serpentine skin. The other Death Eaters were standing in a ring around Voldemort and Snape as the Dark Lord addressed them. 

"Welcome, my Death Eaters," he hissed. "It has been too long since our last meeting. It would seem our dear Severus here has decided it would be amusing to arrive _late_," he finished pointedly. 

"I apologize, my lord," Snape said quietly, looking at the ground. "It shan't happen again." 

"Again?" Voldemort sneered. "One time is unexcusable enough. Crucio!" 

Jolts of excruciating pain spiralled mercilessly through Snape's body as he fell down to the ground, cringing helplessly. He had experienced the agony of the Cruciatus curse many times in his life, so this was hardly anything new to him, but that never made suffering the pain any easier. He would suffer the pain over and over, though, if it would one day mean that Voldemort would be defeated permanently. His nerves felt shot, but Snape wouldn't cry out. He learned long ago not to fight against the pain but to just allow it to do its course and be done with it. After a few moments, the worst of the pain had subsided, leaving Snape limp on the ground. 

"Well, that was fun," mused Voldemort, sneering. "Now get back into line where you belong!" 

The snake that was Voldemort firmly kicked Snape in the lower back, and Snape bit back the urge to protest. He crawled into line with the others and stood silently watching the Dark Lord, waiting for him to make his next move. Voldemort slowly paced back and forth among the ranks, glaring at some of his followers, ignoring others, and muttering obscenities under his voice. 

"You lot are a disappointment to everything I stand for," he finally hissed. "You claim to be my loyal followers, and yet, a whole year has passed since my great return, and what have we to show for it? You gave yourselves to me to do my bidding, and my bidding you will do. That run-in with Dumbledore and his faithful little army at the Ministry back in June was a pitiful attempt, my minions. The new school year is nearly upon us, and I will tell you now that there will be more deaths this year. You must be and you will be ruthless. We will reclaim our place in the wizarding world in honor of Salazar Slytherin, and to do that, it will be as it was years ago. Surely you all remember those days. The murders, ah, yes... the bloodshed... the destruction of whole families and their homes... The Muggles and the Mudbloods must all be done away with, and we shall start with those who are closest to Harry Potter." 

He silenced himself once again, allowing his words to sink in. Voldemort continued to pace the ground, then stopped right in front of Snape. 

"Ah, Severus, tell me, my spy, what has our old friend Dumbledore been planning at Hogwarts?" 

Snape put up his best front for Voldemort and looked him squarely in the eyes, saying impassively, "The old fool thinks his army still has a chance, but we all know that is rubbish. He knows nothing of what you are planning, my lord, and no one in his pitiful Order of the Phoenix has any real leads. They are clueless as can be." 

"Good, very good," cooed Voldemort silkily. "That is why I keep you around, I suppose. You are the snide one, Severus, but you get the job done." 

Snape said nothing, leaving Voldemort to continue with his preaching of world domination and their rightful place in the wizarding world and such nonsense. He listened carefully, however, never once wavering from taking in all the details, for Snape knew that Dumbledore would want a full report upon his arrival back at Hogwarts, and he would only then have to reiterate himself at the next Order meeting. Before too horribly long, Voldemort stopped speaking and sighed, shaking his head. 

"Well, my Death Eaters, the hour grows exceedingly late, and even I need my beauty sleep. Go from my sight now and do my bidding. Remember, I shall be checking on you!" 

The Death Eaters disapparated one by one from the scene, and lastly, Snape disappeared himself and found himself reappearing outside the gates to Hogwarts. He said the proper password and began his long trek back to the castle. The night was cloudy and growing rather windy, and Snape thought he smelled rain in the air. The leaves on the trees rustled loudly in the blowing wind, which also blew Snape's black hair in his face. He tried to push it away, but it was of little use. Until he was back inside the school, he was prey to the elements of the weather, just as he was prey to Voldemort. 

Every time Snape returned from a Death Eater meeting, he would think about why he had even joined forces with the dark side in the first place. He could blame it on foolish decisions from being too young to know better, pressure from his peers, being an outcast, a rough childhood, a desire for power and recognition, but the final thought was always the same: He had chosen of his own free will to join the Death Eaters, and excuses, no matter what they were or even how true they might have been (and they were indeed all quite true), the fact of the matter was that Severus Snape had _chosen_ that path. Every time he looked down with scorn and anguish at his Dark Mark, the black skull and snake standing out in bleak contrast against the pale skin on his left forearm, Snape was reminded all the more of his past decision and the consequences of it. He oftentimes wondered how Dumbledore could have been kind enough to show him such benevolence and mercy, when in all reality, Snape certainly felt unworthy to the core of it. No one but Dumbledore had ever shown the broken man such kindness in his rather short life, and Snape couldn't understand that sort of kindness. He knew, however, that he owed it to the rest of the wizarding world to make penance for his past crimes, and more than that, he knew he owed it to himself, but then, of course, there was Harry Potter, who had already been named a wonder before he was old enough to speak, yet Severus Snape had been forced to sacrifice everything behind the scenes, knowing that he would probably never receive the recognition he had sought for so long in his miserable excuse for a life (or so he felt it was), but Harry Potter, he had already received it, yet he acted so selfish in Snape's eyes. 

Coming out of his deep thoughts, Snape realized that he was now at the front doors to the castle, so he entered solemnly just as the rain began to pour outside. He quietly made his way to Dumbledore's chambers, knowing that he would be awakening the old wizard from his sleep to inform him of the latest news from Voldemort's forces. Snape found himself standing in the Headmaster's office, where Fawkes was slumbering on his perch, and the figures in all the portraits were snoring blissfully in the placid darkness. Snape reached for a small hammer on the desk in front of him and struck the tiny bell on Dumbledore's desk just once, and before a minute had passed, Dumbledore was standing there, clad in purple pajamas that were covered in silvery half-moons. He was holding a lone candle, but with a swift motion with his free hand, several other candles in the room lit themselves, and a fire appeared in the grate. 

"Sit down, Severus," he said calmly. "Relax a minute." 

Snape only silently nodded and proceeded to take a seat in the same leather chair by the fireplace that he always sat in when he visited the Headmaster. Dumbledore sat across from him, and despite the late hour of the night, Dumbledore conjured up the routine teapot and cups for the occasion. Snape stifled a groan at the little pieces of china on the table before him, rubbing his forearm in a mixture of annoyance and pain. He could still feel the after-effects of the Cruciatus curse and wondered if he would need to take an extra strong sleeping draught. 

"The Cruciatus again?" Dumbledore inquired after some time. 

Snape merely nodded. 

"I see," remarked the old man sorrowfully. "Do you need to see Madame Pomfrey?" 

Snape shook his head. 

"Well, then," Dumbledore continued, "since you are so talkative tonight, Severus, do tell me the latest." 

Snape sighed in consternation and muttered, "More deaths are to be expected this year..." 

"Go on," Dumbledore prodded gently. 

Snape sighed again and finally gave a recount of the whole Death Eater meeting. Once he had finished, he felt worn to the ground. He looked at Dumbledore, awaiting further questions, but the Headmaster said nothing. Instead, the old man just stared at Snape with something of a mixture between sadness and concern. 

"If that is all, perhaps it is best you retire for the evening, Severus," he said. 

"Is that all?" Snape asked. 

"Yes," the Headmaster replied tiresomely. "You have told me what I have asked, and it grows ever later. You would do yourself well to get some decent sleep tonight." 

"If that is even possible," mumbled Snape, standing up. 

Dumbledore shook his head and smiled weakly. "Perhaps one day not too far away it will be possible for you to sleep decently," was all he said. 

Snape nodded, not speaking a single word, and left Dumbledore to his thoughts. The Headmaster returned to his bedroom, and just before he fell asleep, he thought of all the things he wished he could have said to Snape, but he had tried to tell the younger wizard time and again how important he was to the Order (and to him), trying to convince the broken man of his true self worth: that he was indeed worthwhile and not so hopeless as he believed himself to be. 

The rest of the week passed with much less excitement, although there was the business of preparing for the new school year throughout Hogwarts. Teachers made sure they had all the necessary supplies and that their lesson plans were complete and thorough. Filch, the caretaker, was working overtime cleaning the school from the highest tower to the lowest part of the dungeons. Before long, the students would be arriving, and the welcome feast would be underway. 

Back at the Burrow, it was now the night before Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny would be boarding the Hogwarts Express in London and heading for Hogsmeade, from where they would take the "horseless" carriages to the school grounds. Hermione had frantically been checking her supplies over and over the whole day, making sure there was nothing she was forgetting. Her obsession with such pristine organization was driving the rest of the household crazy, especially Ron and Harry, who had both decided that a good ride on their brooms would do them good. For once, they were thankful not to have Hermoine with them. After all, Hermione wasn't good at everything. Flying was far from her best ability. 

Dinner had passed rather pleasantly, much to the joy of Mrs. Weasley, and the adolescent wizards and witches were now seated on the floor in Ron's room, discussing the new year at Hogwarts. 

"Where have the years gone?" Hermione mused. "Can you believe it was five years ago that we were arriving for our very first time and being nervous beyond belief?" 

"Yeah," Ron smirked, "and I recall what a know-it-all you were, Hermione. What a minute. What am I saying? You're still a know-it-all." 

Hermione, in mock upset, threw a pillow at Ron, who ducked out of the way just in time to avoid contact with the merciless cotton-stuffed projectile. Harry laughed and shook his head at the two of them. He thought that they would be the perfect couple, although for years, neither one of them would admit it. Harry had watched Ron especially become extremely jealous during their fourth year when Hermione was dating Viktor Krum. Admittingly, Harry wasn't any better when it came to dealing with girls. Both Hermione and Ginny had rolled their eyes on more than one occasion when it came to Harry and Ron's cluelessness regarding the female sex. 

"Well, you all get to start your sixth year," remarked Ginny, "but I've got to take O.W.L.s this year. Tell me, are they really that bad?" 

"No," replied Hermione matter-of-factly, "you just have to make sure you've prepared properly for them, is all." 

"Easy for you to say," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "We're not all Hermione Grangers." 

"Oh?" Hermione questioned. "And tell me, what is that supposed to mean?" 

"Honestly, girl, you should have been placed in Ravenclaw," Ginny remarked knowingly. 

Hermione flushed and hmphed but said nothing. Harry was having too much fun watching his friends, and for some reason, his mind suddenly brought up feelings of being at Grimmauld Place nearly a week prior for the Order meeting. He stopped laughing and looked away from the others, feeling like he didn't belong. Every year at Hogwarts had only proven that Harry's life would become more complicated and endangered, and in the back of his mind, the niggling feeling of knowing the Voldemort would no doubt make himself known yet again ate away at the depths of his consciousness. 

Noticing that Harry was no longer smiling, Ron asked, "What's wrong, mate?" 

"It's... nothing," Harry muttered. 

"You keep saying that," Ginny insisted, "but we won't fall for it, Harry. Come on, spill the beans." 

"It's a new year, right? Well, I should be happy, but how can I be happy, knowing that Voldemort will only attack again? Cedric died a year ago, and Sirius died this year. Who will it be this year? Next year? How many more people? How many more years?" 

The unanswered questions kept flowing from Harry's mouth desperately, but all his friends could do was listen and stare. Concern was etched clearly across all their faces, and all Harry wanted to do was run away. He didn't want to worry them any longer. 

"You know we would never let you face him alone," Hermione replied sincerely. 

"Yeah," Ron added, "we've been there before for you and with you, and we would do it again... in a heartbeat, mate." 

"Harry," Ginny said, looking at him straight in the eyes, "remember how you saved me during your second year?" 

Harry nodded. 

"Well, that proves that you are stronger than you think. You were only twelve back then, and you had already defeated the Dark Lord twice before, and you did it again by destroying Tom Riddle's diary. Harry, if anyone can do it, you can. You've got to believe that if you believe nothing else." 

Harry smiled slightly and simply said, "Thanks, guys. You're the best." 

Before long, Hermione and Ginny left the boys alone in Ron's room, and Ron and Harry talked for a little while longer before Mrs. Weasley knocked on the door and told them to go to sleep, saying that she expected them to be up by eight o'clock the following morning. Ron glumly said yes and blew out the candles, leaving Harry and himself in the darkness. Ron wished Harry a good night and went promptly to bed. From the other bed in the room, which was more like a cot, Harry lay on his side, peering out the window with blurred vision. His glasses had been removed and were resting on the table next to the bed, but still, Harry hadn't yet fallen asleep. He watched as flashes of lightning lit up parts of the sky, and as the rain began to fall, droplets covering the window's glassy surface, Harry wondered about his sixth year and what it would bring. 


	9. Chapter Nine

Chapter Nine

In the still, early hours of the morning, beams of dim sunlight shone through the curtained window, warming Harry's resting face as he slept. His sleep had been sound, and for one night, at least, he was left to dream like any other boy his age. Not too far away, Ron shuffled in his bed, ruffling the bed covers as he moved, but Harry was not disturbed. A small clock on the wall ticked away, the minutes passing one by one, until the sun had at last risen to its full glory. Its rays now poured into the room full-force, and when it became too bright for Harry to sleep any longer, he opened his eyes, immediately reaching for his glasses on the nightstand next to the cot on which he slept. He winced at the sheer brightness of the sunlight and looked around the room for any sign of life from Ron, but the other boy was snoring peacefully away. 

Harry grinned at his friend and shook his head in amusement. He sat up in bed, pushing away the covers and stretched, yawning just once. He noticed his reflection in the mirror that was on the wall across from him, and he realized that his hair needed a good combing, which was not surprising in the least. Harry stood up and shuffled over to the dresser and grabbed his comb, trying his best to tame his relentlessly unruly black hair. When he thought it would do no good to try any longer, he packed the comb away in his luggage and pulled out a pair of tattered jeans (obvious hand-me-downs from Dudley) and a wrinkled red shirt. As Harry pulled some socks over his feet, he thought of the house elf Dobby and how much the little fellow would be happy to see Harry again. Harry smiled at the thought of seeing the ecstatic look on Dobby's face when Harry would give him more old socks when he saw him again. 

In her cage near the window, Hedwig, Harry's snowy owl, screeched softly, wanting to be let out of her cage. Harry walked over to his pet and friend and opened the cage door. The owl perched on his extended right arm as Harry gently stroked the lovely bird's soft feathers. 

"We don't have very long, girl," he muttered to Hedwig. "I wish I could leave you out of your cage longer, but we've only got two hours before we have to leave for London. Go out and catch your breakfast, but just be sure to return by ten o'clock." 

Hedwig would have rolled her eyes if she could, for she was more than intelligent enough to know everything that Harry had just explained to her as if she were a little child. The owl flew off, Harry watching her from the window. Another screeching noise came from within the room, only this one from a little, excited owl. Ron's owl, Pigwidgeon, was anxiously awaiting his release from his cage as well. The pint-sized owl's noises grew in intensity, finally forcing Ron out of slumber. 

"Oh, you ruddy bird," Ron complained, rubbing his eyes. "Okay, okay, I'm coming." 

Ron stood up, still very much half-asleep, and opened Pig's cage. The little owl flew out the window with sheer excitement and pent-up energy. Harry grinned at Ron, saying, "Good morning, Ron." 

"Wha-?" Ron asked, rubbing his eyes. "Oh, yeah. Good morning, Harry. Er, d'you know what time it is?" 

"About eight o'clock, I think." 

"Thanks," Ron mumbled, reaching for a shirt that was draped carelessly over a chair nearby. 

The redheaded boy pulled the shirt over his head and began to scrounge around for socks and trousers, and before long, Ron was dressed. His stomach growled fiercely, and Ron looked down at his abdomen, remarking that he was hungry. Harry quickly agreed that it was definitely time for breakfast, and together, the two of them headed downstairs to the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley was already hard at work. She moved swiftly from the stove to the sink and back again, several times, and also shifting over to the table on occasion. 

"Sit down, sit down now," she said hastily. "Give me just a minute here, and you'll have yourselves a good, hardy meal to get you ready to go and face a new year at Hogwarts." 

Harry and Ron had actually beaten the girls to the table, as well as the rest of the Weasley family, but it wasn't long before everyone was tucked in and ready for breakfast. Mrs. Weasley covered the table with eggs, bacon, sausages, muffins, practically anything that anyone could ever want for a full English breakfast. The boys devoured their food, acting like it would be taken away from them if they didn't eat it fast enough. The girls rolled their eyes at the lack of proper table manners from the male components of the table. 

"Honestly," Hermione muttered to Ginny, "you'd think they were starving to death." 

"I know," Ginny remarked wryly, eyeing Ron with disgust. "Just feel lucky that you don't have to live with them." Her gaze drifted to the twins as she spoke. 

"There's no need to hurry now," Mrs. Weasley intoned in her very best motherly voice. "We still have an hour before we need to leave. When you're finished, I'd like everyone to make sure that they have everything packed. There'll be no stoppin' back here for anything that's left behind." 

After eating about as many helpings as his cousin Dudley would have probably consumed, Harry stopped, full to the brim. He certainly never had the opportunity to enjoy any decent meals in the earlier part of the summer when he was at the Dursley's house, so whatever time he spent with the Weasleys always guaranteed good times and good food. 

Everyone actually excused themselves from the table, unlike several occasions, and Harry and his friends headed back upstairs to gather together their things. Ron and Harry were checking over their bags to make sure they had everything packed when Hermione, followed closely by Ginny, came prancing into the room. She planted herself in the chair by Ron's desk and stared them down for several moments, taking in every little move they made. Ron cast several glances, which grew ever more annoyed, in her direction, and when she still didn't speak, he rolled her eyes and exclaimed, "What is it now, Hermione?" 

"Oh, nothing," she replied overly-sweetly. "I just wanted to make sure that you had everything packed, is all." 

From the floor by the foot of the bed, Ginny stifled a laugh. Ron's ears turned red, and he groaned, "Isn't it bad enough I've gotta hear it from my mum? Now you, too?" 

Hermione giggled, shaking her head. "Oh, you're hopeless, Ron, really." 

"What?" Ron asked exasperately, totally perplexed. 

Harry looked from Ron to Hermione, Hermione to Ron, and smiled. 

"You two are something else," Harry remarked sarcastically. 

"Oh, is it funny to you?" Ron asked, take a bit aback. 

"Ron," Hermione said, standing up, "I can't help you with your cluelessness, but maybe one day you'll actually open your eyes." 

That said, she walked casually out of the room, and Ginny followed, glaring at her brother. 

"What was that all about?" Ron questioned Harry. 

"You'll have to figure that one out for yourself, mate," Harry replied, still smiling. "C'mon, let's go." 

Harry wondered when his two best friends would stop playing games with each other and actually admit their feelings for one another. He had watched Ron on several occasions over the past couple of years as he burned with jealously to see Hermione with another guy, or whenever it came to issues of dating and girls, Ron seemed to be clueless. Harry was nearly as bad, but he knew that Ron and Hermione, although they could be as different as night and day, would make the cliche perfect couple. Hermione seemed to take pleasure out of teasing Ron, which was her own way of flirting, and Ron's confused reaction was the result every time. 

As everyone gathered downstairs, Harry found himself wondering how they would be travelling to Kings Cross Station in London this year. They exited through the front door and began to walk around the side of the house, Harry's curiosity growing ever larger. Just as he was about to ask Ron if he knew their mode of transportation, Mr. Weasley stopped in midstride, turning around to face them with a beaming smile on his face. 

"I've got a surprise to show you all," he announced proudly. "Just follow me a little further, and you'll see what I mean." 

Ron merely shrugged, and everyone resumed their trip around another corner of the house. Mr. Weasley stopped in front of a bright purple van and remarked glowingly, gently patting the van on the hood, "Isn't she a beauty?" 

"Er, yeah, Dad," Ron replied, eyeing the vehicle cautiously. Ever since Ron's not so wonderful experience with the enchanted Ford Anglia four years prior, he had been weary of enchanted vehicles. 

"Well, come on, then," Mr. Weasley insisted with excitement. "Get in! Get in!" 

Harry approached the strange vehicle and took a seat between Ron and Hermione, and Ginny was seated between Fred and George behind them. Mr. Weasley took the driver's seat, and Mrs. Weasley took the front seat next to him. Arthur Weasley's extreme love for anything Muggle had proven to be the ultimate test of Molly Weasley's patience time and again, but as they drove down the road toward London, Harry found himself staring out the window, lost in thought. 

Green fields and trees passed by as they journeyed, and the sun was high in the sky, saturating the late summer landscape in all its brilliance. Not a cloud was in the vibrant blue sky, but Harry's mind was elsewhere. He recalled his trip last year to Kings Cross and how they had left Grimmauld Place and simply taken a twenty minute walk to the train station. A certain big, black dog came along, wagging his tail the whole way. The memory was just another reason for Harry to feel the loss of Sirius. He turned his head away from the window and stared aimlessly at his lap, watching his fingers play, locking and unlocking. 

Before long, they had arrived at the train station, and once everyone had removed themselves and their baggage from the van, they ventured into the bustling station and found Platform 9 3/4. With no problems, they went through the invisible barrier and found themselves surrounded by wizards. Harry watched parents wish their children good bye, and some of the youngest children, probably first years, appeared scared and weary of leaving their parents for the first time. Mrs. Weasley glanced at the clock and urged them toward the train. 

"You haven't got very long," she remarked hastily. She quickly hugged and kissed them each good bye, wishing them the best of luck and telling them to stay out of trouble. Harry found himself in a bone-crushing hug, and Mrs. Weasley firmly and affectionately kissed him on the cheek, whispering into his ear, "Do be careful, Harry, love." 

"I will, Molly," Harry smiled, trying to sound reassuring to both himself and his surrogate mother. 

Harry joined his friends on the train, but Ron and Hermione reminded him that they would have to sit in the section reserved specifically for Prefects again this year. Harry merely nodded, remembering all too well from the previous year. A part of him was still jealous that both of his best friends had been made Prefects, leaving him to sit with his other friends. Ginny pulled Harry into an empty compartment and sat down next to him. 

"I wonder if Neville and Luna will join us," she said off-handedly. 

"I guess so," Harry mumbled. 

If he were to be honest with himself, Harry wasn't sure he was looking forward to seeing them. He felt that by seeing them, it would only serve as another reminder of that fateful, horrible night back in June at the Department of Mysteries. They had been there with him, fighting Death Eaters and risking their lives, and Harry felt a twinge of guilt well up inside of him. They had proven to be true friends, yet here he was, not sure he could handle seeing them again, but when Neville popped his head in, Harry tried his best to appear calm and polite. 

"Hullo, Harry... Ginny," the round-faced boy greeted them. "Can I sit with you?" 

"Of course, Neville," Ginny smiled. "Do have a seat. How was your summer?" 

As Neville took the seat across from Harry and Ginny, Harry stopped paying attention to them as they became lost in a conversation between the two of them. Suddenly, Luna Lovegood appeared out of nowhere and plopped down on the seat next to Neville. 

"Whew!" she exclaimed, out of breath. "I thought I wouldn't make it!" 

The fifth year Ravenclaw's already constantly surprised face was gaping at them with even larger eyes. They all regarded her as if she had lost her mind, but before long, the train began to move, and Harry actually found himself able to settle down a bit. Perhaps the familiar surroundings of the train were doing him some good. 

A few hours later, the Hogwarts Express pulled up to the station in Hogsmeade, the small wizarding town near Hogwarts. The students left the train and boarded the "horseless" carriages that where waiting to take them to the school. Harry knew that these carriages were not really "horseless," though, for he could see clear as day that there were thestrals pulling them along. The invisible creatures could be seen by anyone would had seen death before, and it was yet another reminder of Sirius's death to Harry. Harry remembered watching his godfather's body gracefully falling through the veil... slowly... seemingly taking an eternity to disappear... and then followed by his desperate and painful cries. 

As the towers of Hogwarts that loomed in the distance grew ever larger by the moment, Harry felt his stomach twisting inside himself. He really was here at Hogwarts, and this really was the beginning on his sixth year. Thoughts of what would happen this year, what enemies he would fight, what challenges he would face, who would die... all these thoughts drifted mercilessly through his mind as Harry found himself stepping off the carriage and ascending the steps to the main entrance. 

Upon entering the school, the students filtered in the Great Hall for the welcoming feast, all taking seats at their respective house tables. The hall was decorated with colorful and bright banners of each house, and behind the Head Table, a large banner spanned the entire wall that bore the Hogwarts Crest upon it. High above them, the enchanted ceiling was jet, velvety, star-studded black, perfectly reflecting the clear night sky outside. The sound of excited students filled the atmosphere, but from his seat, Harry watched with a feeling of familiarity as the nervous first years were led into the Great Hall by Professor McGonagall to be sorted. 

"Your attention, please!" she announced loudly. Slowly, the noise levels died down. 

Perched on a stool in front of the Head Table, the ancient, worn Sorting Hat came to life and began to sing this year's new Sorting Hat Song: 

_I'm sure that if you had just one ear,  
You would remember how last year  
I sang to you a simple song  
With a message you should have known all along.  
I told you if you work together  
In both foul and fair weather,  
Hogwarts' four houses all combined  
Would no doubt prove that you would find  
That stronger in numbers we are  
Than when we choose to drift alone so far.  
In Gryffindor, you so brave,  
Keep your focus true and grave.  
Do not let your strength get the worst of you,  
For sometimes it's best to stop and think it through  
Before rushing head first into such tragedy,  
Where only regrets and sadness will surely be.  
In Hufflepuff, you so loyal,  
Keep your feet rooted in good soil.  
Do not overwork yourselves in places of dead dirt,  
Where you would only find yourselves hurt,  
But rather prove yourselves as devoted friends,  
And your true worth shall know no ends.  
In Ravenclaw, you so clever,  
Let not your intelligence sever  
Your mind from her heart,  
What should be together now apart.  
Use your knowledge and your skill,  
And you shall find you have very strong will.  
In Slytherin, you so ambitious,  
Do not eat up pride as if it were so delicious.  
Your determination and resourcefulness  
Are qualities you should not let go amiss.  
In darkness at times, you can prove your true worth  
That all is not lost from the time of your birth.  
So, together, let us stand  
And work together hand in hand.  
I will place you where you ought to be,  
But you need not prove yourself to me.  
Rather, all I ask of you  
Is to not give up until the war is through.  
Do not do what is easy but what is right,  
And you will have fought the good fight._

The Sorting Hat stopped singing, and silence rested heavily in the air. Professor McGonagall lifted the hat with ease and held up a piece of parchment in her other hand with the list of the new students' names on it. 

"Now," the stern witch began, "when I call out your name, I want you to step forward and take a seat here. The Sorting Hat will be placed on your head, and you will be sorted into the correct house." She paused only briefly and then read the first student's name, "Anderson, Holly!" 

A short girl with curly blonde hair stepped forward, wary of all the eyes that were on her. She sat on the stool timidly, and McGonagall placed the Sorting Hat on her head. 

"Hufflepuff!" the hat exclaimed. 

The girl smiled from ear to ear and breathed a sigh of relief as she headed toward the Hufflepuff table, where she was welcomed with joyful applause. 

"Boykin, Edward!" 

"Ravenclaw!" 

"Carlson, Janice!" 

"Slytherin!" 

"Eddington, Constance!" 

"Gryffindor!" 

The rest of the Sorting Ceremony passed rather quickly, and from his bejeweled seat in the center of the Head Table, Professor Dumbledore stood up. 

He held out his arms valiantly, saying cheerfully, "Welcome to yet another year at Hogwarts!" He brought his arms down and continued, "Before the feast is underway, I would like to go over a few school rules. No student is to go into the Forbidden Forest and with the exception of Prefects, to be out after curfew..." He listed off a few other things, but then his tone became very grave indeed. "There is one more matter that I would like to inform you all about tonight. The Ministry of Magic now knows firsthand of Voldemort's return to power, yet nothing, and I repeat, nothing, has been done by the Ministry to ensure the protection of the wizarding world. I am telling you all now that these are dark times indeed in which we are being forced to live. Take heed to the Sorting Hat's advice, and unlike the failures of last year, let us hope with a renewed sense of duty to our fellow man, both wizard and Muggle alike, and we can all work together as one against the dark forces that are at work in this world." 

The ancient, wise wizard paused again, but his expression turned happier and more pleased as he concluded, "And with all that said, there is one more thing I would like to say. I rewelcome Professor Remus Lupin as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher to Hogwarts! That said, enjoy the feast and this year at Hogwarts!" 

Dumbledore resumed his seat, and Harry's eyes wandered to the Head Table. He almost couldn't believe it was true, but when his eyes came to rest upon Lupin, he beamed at his friend and teacher. Lupin was sitting next to Snape of all people, to which Harry grimaced, feeling sorry for Lupin. From his seat at Gryffindor's table, Harry stared long and hard at Lupin, hoping that the werewolf would notice him, but Lupin was lost in a conversation with Snape. Harry frowned and looked down at his plate. This was far from a perfect world to The Boy Who Lived. 


	10. Chapter Ten

Chapter Ten

The festivities had ended, marking another beginning to a new school year. The students had all gone to bed, and the castle was quiet, still, dark... just the way Severus Snape liked it. Besides having to endure Lupin's unnerving presence next to him at the welcoming feast, Snape thought that it had gone about as well as he could have imagined. He had promptly left the Great Hall the moment the chance had presented itself, and going down to his humble abode in the dungeons, Snape quickly checked his lessons plans for the next day and made sure that all the necessary ingredients were prepared. After ensuring that everything was in order, he locked the door to the classroom and placed the much-needed wards, in his opinion, anyway, on the door. He was overly-suspicious of students breaking into his precious rare ingredients, especially after the incidents of the disappearing boomslang skin and gillyweed, which Snape to this day still insisted were somehow linked to Harry Potter. 

Harry Potter. Oh, that name just brought a sense of loathing to Snape's mind every time he allowed it to cross his cynical mind. The next generation of Potter was far too much like his father in Snape's eyes, and not just in the physical sense, but also in the sense that Harry Potter seemed just as arrogant as his late father. The Quidditch star, prized by most of his teachers, always getting into mischief, and worst of all, allowed to break school rules and still be a student at Hogwarts... the epitome of all things Gryffindor embodied into one boy, that was how Harry Potter appeared to Snape, but a small, niggling feeling had always existed somewhere in the depths of Snape's mind. Try as he may to push it further into the deepest recesses of his memory bank, Snape reluctantly knew that Harry Potter was not entirely like his father. James Potter never had to be labelled "The Boy Who Lived" and been granted fame simply because of his existence of being the only one to escape the clutches of Voldemort. In fact, James Potter had been killed by the Dark Lord like several others, but Harry Potter was different, definitely, annoyingly different, and that grated on Snape's already frayed nerves like nails on a chalkboard. 

The fact that the Potter boy was exempt from the rules, that the usual rules that applied to everyone else simply were not applicable to Harry Potter, was what pushed Snape over the edge. Harry had a darkness in him that had become all the more evident last year when he began to have visions of what Voldemort was seeing and feel what the Dark Lord was feeling, and the reverse was true as well. As Snape stalked through the dungeon hallways, he bared his teeth, recalling all too well how Harry had blatantly refused to listen to him during Occlumency lessons. It didn't matter to Snape how much Harry hated him, but he knew he had a job to do and that had been to instruct the boy in being able to rid himself of emotion, thus ensuring that Voldemort would not have such easy access to Harry's mind. Harry had refused, never once giving Snape any amount of respect, which was all the more reason for Snape to show even further disrespect in return. Harry's fifth year had ended with many things left unresolved, but any small shred of respect that may have existed between those two wizards before had been severed. 

Snape groaned in aggravation, wishing that Harry Potter would leave him in peace and stop invading his private thoughts. After all, Snape's nightly routine of striding through the dungeons was his time to try to empty his mind before he would finally be able to sleep with any kind of ease. More often than not, however, his hidden emotions weighed heavily on his conscience, and Snape wondered what would happen to him if he wasn't able to walk off his frustration and anger. Would he lock himself away and finally break down after years of such heart-wrenching torment? He didn't want to think about that. 

Snape wheeled around a corner, looking like a snake going for the kill. His black eyes darted relentlessly back and forth, gazing the corridors for any other sign of life in those early hours of the morning just after midnight. For any wandering student's sake, it would be in his or her best interest not to be seen by Snape, for any student out past curfew gave the Potions professor yet another reason to give detention. 

His pace was quick, his black robes billowing behind him like a vampiric bat, which was all a part of the charade, for in that very moment something suddenly happened that was very unexpected. Snape slowed his long strides until he was nearly standing still, and then he stopped moving all together, leaving his lone form simply standing there, staring aimlessly off into the distance. He lowered his head in shame, his hair hiding his gloomy face from everyone save himself, and in painful recollection, he closed his eyes. Everything came rushing back to him then. 

_A mudblood. He had called her a bloody mudblood of all things. Of all the curses and hexes he could think to throw in his enemy's direction to cause them pain, it was nothing in comparison to the agony that wrought his young heart by calling the sweetest of angels such a filthy, disgusting, loathsome, bitter name. _

He mentally kicked himself and physically beat himself in a raging fit as he eventually surcame to running away from those fools, which they were to him, anyway, that accursed day. To a fifteen-year-old boy, his world was and had been crumbling away since the day he blinked for the first time to the world outside his mother's womb. The young Severus ran straight to the dungeons and hid away in some damp, desolate, forgotten corner, where he was too angry to even cry those unshed tears. He found himself lying upon the cold, flagstoned floor, gazing up at the ceiling, lost in thought in his own mind. He took out his frustration and anger on a few unsuspecting flies who were caught buzzing annoyingly above his head, hexing them to the ground with his wand and a mere utterance of the necessary word to cast the spell. 

Then from out of no where it would seem, he heard a voice. 

"I thought I might find you down here." 

It was her. 

Severus tried to ignore her, closing his eyes and hoping she would leave him in peace at least, but she was relentless. She sat down on the floor next to him, and he then felt a warm hand resting gently on his bony shoulder. This undeserving comfort was all too much for him to bear, so he turned away, moving his whole form so he wouldn't have to see her. 

"Severus," she persisted softly. "Please..." 

Suddenly, he could stand her compassion no longer. He jerked up quickly, sitting up stiffly and glaring at her straight in the eyes. Those amazing, beautiful green eyes of hers stared back, but in them was no hatred, no pity... just concern. 

"What does it matter to you?" he retorted. "You've got your whole Gryffindor squad following you around, and you could have any guy you want in this bloody school, so amuse me, Lily, why the hell would you come looking for me? Is this some kind of game, 'Torment Slimy Snivellus' or perhaps 'Get the Greasy Git Good'?" 

Lily then glared at him, replying, "Why would you need any pity from me or anyone else when it appears that you've got enough of it for yourself that you could have a party every day of your life and your own presence would be enough to fuel it? Please spare me your sarcasm for once, Severus, and just talk to me." 

"Oh? And what's there to say? You've got two eyes; you saw what happened out there this afternoon. Maybe if you'd just go out with Pretty Potter, you'd do us both a favor." 

"What?!" Lily exclaimed exasperately. "What are you talking about? As I said earlier, I'd choose the giant squid over Potter any day of the week." 

At this Severus couldn't help but to smile. The very thought of Lily Evans taking the giant squid on a date to Hogsmeade was rather amusing. 

"That," he replied, rolling his eyes, "is a mental picture I don't want in my head." Then he frowned again and looked away. "Lily, about what I said out there--" 

"I know you didn't mean it," she said hastily. "It's okay, really." 

"No, Lily," Severus replied firmly. "It's not okay. I'm sorry... I was just so angry and humiliated, and the last thing I wanted was you getting yourself involved in a fight between me and them." 

"I know, Severus, but--" 

The memory faded as Snape finally turned his gaze away from that secluded corner in the dungeon where Lily and he had spoken on many occasions years ago. He shook his head with remorse and walked to his chambers, closing the door after him. 

* * * * *

The Great Hall early in the morning during breakfast hours was an over-crowded disarray of students, chattering loudly about their day ahead and devouring as much food as they could in a very limited amount of time. Among them were Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were seated near the end of the Gryffindor table nearest the doorway. Ron was consuming food at a rate that was only humanly possible for an adolescent boy and regarding Harry and Hermione incredulously. 

"So, you're both telling me that your very first class is with _Snape?_" he asked, his mouth full of food gaping open. 

"Oh, Ron," Hermione scoffed. "Do close your mouth when you're chewing, and yes, our first class is Advanced Potions." 

Harry smiled at Ron, shaking his head at his friend's amusing behavior, and the thing that made Ron's behavior even more amusing was the fact that Ron wasn't trying to be funny. Ron finished his mouthful of food, wiped his face with a serviette, and glanced at his friends. 

"Well," he said, "I've a class to go to soon, so I'll leave you both to enjoy your oh-so-lovely experience with Snape. I'll expect a full report at lunch." 

Hermione rolled her eyes, and Harry called after Ron, "Sure thing, mate! See ya later!" 

Ron wandered out the door, leaving Harry sitting alone with Hermione. He was taking a drink of pumpkin juice when he noticed Hermione's eyes resting on him. 

"What is it?" he asked. "Do I have food on my face or something?" 

"No," she replied, sighing. "It's just that... well, Ron is so negative about Snape all the time. Don't you think it's possible that he's overly judgmental?" 

"Who? Ron or Snape?" Harry joked. 

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, annoyed. "I'm being serious. How many times do I have to remind the two of you that Snape is on our side and that Dumbledore trusts him? Shouldn't that be enough?" 

Harry hmphed and glared at Hermione, muttering sourly, "You didn't have to stand in a room alone with him, listening to him berate your father and your father's best friends, one of whom is... was... my godfather. You didn't have to hear him tell you that you had an inflated ego and only wanted attention because of your fame. You didn't have to see him look down his long nose at you with those penetrating, black eyes, staring straight through you, making you feel worthless and transparent, all the while listening to him gloat and sneer at you. So, Hermione, unless you can say that you understand what it feels like to be in that man's horrid presence alone, please don't try to convince me that he isn't really all that bad." 

Hermione was at a loss for words. Never before had Harry been so frank and open with her about Snape and how he truly felt inside about the Potions Master. True, she knew that Harry didn't like him, but she certainly couldn't comprehend the depth of that loathing. 

"Okay, point taken," she finally said reluctantly, "but that won't excuse us from being late for our first Advanced Potions class. We'd best be moving along." 

Harry nodded, grabbed his bag, and followed Hermione out of the Great Hall and down into the dungeons. They sat in their usual spot at the very back of the classroom, wanting to be as far away from Snape as was possible. It didn't matter where they sat, though, for Snape always stalked around his classroom during every period, closely monitoring the students as they worked on their assignment. Snape's very presence and his breathing down many an unsuspecting student's back were the cause of many accidents, for the students were wary of him and felt unnerved whenever he came too close. At least Neville Longbottom would no longer be an issue. 

They watched as students from all four hours filtered into the room and took seats. The size of the class was smaller than any other year had been, and among the students there, Harry noticed that the majority of them were from either Slytherin or Ravenclaw. This was not at all surprising, considering the fact that Snape's own house would have received special treatment and the Ravenclaws were the most intelligent of the students. Harry watched the door for Snape, knowing that the man would not be a moment late. 

Suddenly, Snape was there, walking quickly into the room, not looking at any of his students in the eyes. He leaned against his desk at the front of the classroom and then eyed them all, scanning the room for what Harry thought were misfits to be kicked out immediately. Then, Snape spoke. 

"So," he began tersely, "you have all somehow managed to prove worthy of upper level Advanced Potions by scoring marks high enough on your O.W.L.s to be allowed to take this class; however," he paused, glaring straight at Harry, who glared back just as intensely, "some of you have been granted special pardon to be here. Well, no matter what the reason, consider yourselves being here a privilege, meaning that it is something you had to work for and something that can be easily taken away from you if I just happen to decide that your performance in this class is below what is acceptable. What is acceptable? Only top marks. What will be expected of you? Only the best working knowledge and performance in the subject of Potions. Now, your first lesson..." 

Harry wanted to crawl under his desk and die. Snape had already managed to humiliate him and provoke him within the first five minutes of class. Writing the lesson on the board and listing the necessary ingredients, Snape told them that the potions they would be concocting would be able to give resistance to several strong hexes. He explained that the potion's effectiveness would wear off after only a half an hour, but nonetheless, it could be an important thing to have with oneself if the circumstance presented itself. 

"I will be collecting your samples at the end of class, and you are each to do your own work. This means, Miss Granger, that there will be no helping from your know-it-all self," Snape sneered. 

Hermione didn't say anything, but she only began to work. Harry watched her as she cut up several scarab beetles, and he was just about to do likewise when a low, hissing voice said smoothly behind him, "Ah, Mr. Potter, I see that your concentration is already displaced. Five points from Gryffindor for your lack of prompt attention to the given assignment. Now, do what you are here to do, Potter, and there won't be a problem." 

Harry didn't say anything, for he was too angry with Snape for picking him out specially for a harsh reprimanding for doing nothing wrong. Harry spent the rest of the class working in silence on his potion, never once looking at Hermione next to him, but he did cast an occasional glare in Snape's direction simply for good measure on his part. After an hour and a half of pure and utter agony, at least in Harry's humble opinion, the class ended, and the students all poured a small bit of their potions into vials and cleaned up. They passed Snape's desk, each one placing a small bottle of potion on its surface as they walked by. Harry was the last one to walk by, and as he placed his potion down, he sat it rather firmly on the desk. He nearly jerked away in horror when a pale, long-fingered hand planted itself firmly on his, holding Harry's hand to the desk's uneven wooden surface, his young fingers still gripping the vial. From the doorway, Hermione gasped, looking at the scene in surprise. 

"You may be on your way, Miss Granger," Snape instructed her tersely. He then turned his dark gaze on Harry. 

Hermione quickly nodded and left the site. 

"In the future, Mr. Potter, you will place your vial gently upon my desk. Is that clear?" Snape questioned silkily. 

"Understood, sir," Harry mumbled. 

Snape released Harry's hand harshly, pushing Harry's arm off the desk. "You may go now." 

Harry nodded, his brows furrowed, but before he left the classroom, he glared at Snape and remarked, "Perhaps you, Professor, shouldn't handle your students so roughly, then." 

Before Snape could reply, Harry turned on his heel and walked out the door. After Harry had left, Snape muttered to himself, "Five more points from Gryffindor, Mr. Potter," and recorded the subtraction of the house points in his ledger. He stiffly closed the large book and began grading the assignment. So ended their first Advanced Potions lesson together. 


	11. Chapter Eleven

Chapter Eleven

Somehow a week had already passed, and Harry was finding himself feeling adjusted to being back at Hogwarts. The unnerving thoughts of what this year would bring slowly were pushed to the back of his mind, where they remained untouched, and Harry focused on the mundane, everyday things that were much more welcoming: his friends, homework, classes, even professors. What really had him excited, however, was the fact that Quidditch tryouts would be the following week, and since all three Chasers and both Beaters were now gone, Harry knew that a whole new Gryffindor Quidditch team would need to be assembled. Professor McGonagall had already informed him that he would be the new Quidditch Captain for Gryffindor, and upon hearing the great news, a smile spread across Harry's face. He would finally be able to play his favorite game again for the school, since last year he had been unfairly banned from the team by Professor Umbridge, the horrible curse of a woman she was. 

As Harry's last class of the day ended that Friday afternoon, which was Defense Against the Dark Arts, Harry stood up from his seat and looked to the front of the classroom, watching as Lupin placed some papers in his bag. 

"I'll catch up with you later," Harry quickly told Ron and Hermione. "I just want to talk to Remus for a bit." 

"Sure thing, mate," Ron replied as Hermione nodded. 

As his two best friends left the classroom, Harry overheard Hermione lecturing Ron about making sure he had completed such and such an assignment. Harry laughed silently and shook his head, thinking how some things never changed, Hermione's study habits and Ron's lack of them being one of those things. Lupin looked up from his desk and noticed Harry as he approached him, and he smiled graciously. 

"Ah, it's good to see you, Harry," the werewolf greeted him. "How was your first week of school?" 

"Fine," Harry replied automatically. "Er, Professor-" 

"Harry," Lupin corrected him, "when we're not in class, it's okay to call me by my given name." 

"Right. Okay, Remus... I was just wondering if you had a minute to talk." 

"Of course," Lupin agreed. "Just follow me to my office, and there we can have some silence and privacy to talk over tea. Does that sound good?" 

Harry nodded and followed Lupin out of the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom and down the hallway a bit. Lupin unlocked the door to his office, and as Harry entered, he thought how strange it was to be back in this room. He had been inside the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor's office on numerous occasions. He had sought out Gilderoy Lockhart during the end of his second year in hopes of having his assistance with the Chamber of Secrets, only to find out that the man was a fraud. During his third year, Harry had sat in the office with Lupin on many occasions over tea, learning a few things about his father and godfather and how Lupin had gone to school with them. Harry's fourth year brought the imposter Moody to Hogwarts, and it was within this very office that Barty Crouch, Jr. had been keeping the real Moody hostage within a trunk. Harry recalled the horrid decorations Professor Umbridge had placed within the office during his fifth year and how he had used her fireplace to speak to Lupin and Sirius, but then Harry remembered the most terrible memory of all. 

As he sat down in the seat that Lupin offered him, Harry's eyes wandered to the fireplace, and he felt like he was reliving the day when he frantically went into the office and tried to contact Sirius after he had had that horrible vision of Voldemort tormenting him within the Department of Mysteries. He had only been able to speak with Kreacher, who lied and told him that his master was not there, when all along Sirius had been upstairs in his house with Buckbeak. Harry's mind whirled into a complete disarray of cluttered, mixed thoughts, and all he could think was how if only he had known that Sirius was safe all along, he would still have been with him today. 

"Harry?" Lupin asked. "Hello, Harry? You all right?" 

"Huh?" Harry asked with a start, suddenly realizing that Lupin was saying his name. "Oh... sorry about that." He shook his head and reached for the cup of tea that had been placed unnoticed in front of him. 

"What is it?" Lupin persisted. 

"It's... nothing," Harry lied in a very quiet voice, his eyes drifting back to the fireplace. 

Lupin sighed and placed his cup down on the saucer, bringing one of his hands to rest on Harry's arm. "You're thinking about that day, aren't you?" 

Harry didn't have to ask what "that day" was, for he knew perfectly well that Lupin knew what was on Harry's mind. 

"I just don't know, Remus," Harry said softly. "I mean, if only I had known... if only I could have reached him... if only... if only I hadn't gone to that bloody place to look for him..." 

Lupin sighed again and regarded Harry carefully. "Listen, Harry," he said firmly. "That's an awful lot of 'if onlys' you're saying. There's no way you could have known; there's no way any of us could have known. You know that." 

"Yeah? Well, that doesn't change the fact of what happened." 

"No," admitted the older wizard, "but we did the best we could do. Nothing and no one could have kept Sirius from coming to help us that night. Even Snape tried to tell him not to leave his house that night, but Sirius would have no part of it. Once he made up his mind, well... you know that he had made up his mind." 

Harry nodded in acknowledgment, for he knew full well that what Lupin said was true. Sirius Black had been stubborn, and he would have never allowed anyone to convince him otherwise once he had made up his mind. He had acted on impulse as a result of his decision, but to Harry, he simply couldn't bring himself to accept that actuality. 

Harry suddenly released a dry, mirthless laugh and shook his head. 

"What's so funny?" Lupin questioned. 

"Heh, I'll tell you what's so funny," Harry drawled. "Dumbledore told me that same thing: Snape tried to tell Sirius to stay home. Now I'm hearing that same thing from you, so does that make it true, then? Because I have a really hard time believing that." 

"Harry, yes, that is the truth. What more can I say?" Lupin's eyes searched Harry for any sign of understanding. 

"But Snape baited Sirius!" Harry countered. "He called him a coward, told him he was of no real use to the Order, all because he was staying locked up in his mother's house!" 

"If there's one thing you should have learned by now about Snape, Harry, it's that he takes pleasure out of baiting the other person. The trick is to not let what he says get to you." 

"Yeah? Well, that's easier said than done," Harry spat. "Try sitting in Potions as he makes you feel like you're scum growing on a toad's liver, all for no apparent reason, and see how easy it is for you to keep your anger contained." 

Lupin considered Harry's words for a moment before he spoke, recalling many of the occasions during his own lifetime when he had had dealings with Snape. 

Finally, he began, "Sometimes if you don't say anything, you are better off for it, Harry. Do you remember when I told you not to take anyone at face value if you could help it?" 

"Yeah." 

"Well, don't take Snape at face value. He's just a man, isn't he?" 

"Yes," said Harry impatiently. "So, what's your point?" 

"My point is that he has just as many flaws and problems as the next person. His acid tongue and harsh demeanor are simply his defense mechanisms. Behind them, Harry, is a man who has experienced things that no man should have to experience in his life." 

Harry nodded and took a last sip of his tea, draining the cup completely. He placed the cup gently down on to the saucer and stood up. As he walked by Lupin, he stopped and smiled at him. 

"Thank you," was all he said, and then he exited the room and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. 

* * * * *

The students' first weekend back at Hogwarts was spent trying to return to study mode after being off all summer. During the week, many of the students had neglected their homework, but luckily for them, most of the professors gave them more time to turn in their first assignments than usual, for most professors understood that the students needed some time to adjust to being back in school again. Harry complained to Hermione numerous times about their Potions assignments, saying that Snape was unfair for not giving them some slack. 

"What did you expect?" Hermione asked, not surprised at Harry's behavior. "You've had Snape for five years now, and it's an upper level class." 

"Yeah, I know," mumbled Harry, crossing his arms over his chest, "but that doesn't give me that answer to the ten uses of serpent's tongue." 

From one of the dark red leather armchairs, Ron eyed his friends who were seated on the floor by the coffee table in front of the fireplace. Hermione was bent over her homework, anxiously writing away, her parchment already two feet long, which was a foot longer than was necessary for the assignment. Harry was gazing at her with his arms across his chest still, and his parchment had only a couple of sentences written on it. 

"That's why I'm glad I'm not taking Advanced Potions," Ron smirked. "Why don't you ask Hermione for the answers, Harry? It's always worked for me." 

Upon hearing Ron's words, Hermione's head shot up, and she glared at Ron. "Ronald Weasley, you are the most insufferable prat I know when it comes to homework. Don't pull Harry into your snare. I won't stand for it any longer." 

"What? Me?" Ron asked, aghast. 

"Yes, you!" Hermione retorted. "Now hush up. If I can't concentrate here, I'm going to the library." 

"Your favorite place in the world," teased Ron. 

Hermione's eyes flared at him, and with a huff, she slammed her book shut. Gathering all the papers and books she had spread across half of the table, she placed into inside her bag, turned on her heel, and was out the door before either Ron or Harry could say a word. 

"What was that all about?" Ron questioned Harry. 

"Oh, just shut up, Ron," Harry replied, rolling his eyes. "If you haven't figured her out by now, you're never going to." 

"Girls," Ron huffed, rolling his own eyes. "But hey," he began, changing the subject, "Quidditch tryouts are on Monday for Gryffindor, right?" 

"Yeah," Harry replied, a smile creeping across his face, despite the fact he was trying to remain serious. 

"Just think, with you as Captain, we'll have the best team ever. You're gonna pick only the best players, aren't you?" 

"No," Harry said sardonically, "I thought I'd pick Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil. Of course I'm going to pick only the best." 

Ron nodded and went back to working on his Herbology assignment, while Harry worked on the dreaded Potions assignment with frustration etched across his face for the remainder of that Sunday afternoon. The rest of that day passed calmly enough, and Monday greeted Harry with another Advanced Potions class first thing in the morning. He actually managed to make the potion correctly and place it _gently_ upon Snape's desk without the Potions Master deducing any points from Gryffindor. Strangely enough, Harry realized during his lunch that Snape hadn't even said any sarcastic or scathing remarks to him or any of the other Gryffindors. The dark man had been oddly silent most of the period, only speaking when he was giving out the lesson plan and homework assignment. 

The afternoon passed in a blur, and before Harry knew it, he was heading out to the Quidditch pitch, Fireblot over his shoulder and the equipment bag in the other hand. His mind gave no heed to Potions or Snape as he approached the green field, where several younger Gryffindor students had gathered to try out for the team. There was much excited talking going on among the group, and as Harry stared at them, Ron came up from behind and said, "Look at them, all over-thrilled, thinking they'll all get on the team." 

"Yeah," Harry mused thoughtfully, "'course you were in the same position a year ago." 

"Don't remind me," Ron said sullenly, remembering the infamous "Weasley Is Our King" song that the Slytherins had taunted him with. He had seriously begun to doubt his abilities as Keeper the previous year, and when his brothers and Harry had been kicked off the team, Ron felt even more unsure of himself. 

Harry patted his friend heartily on the back and went to stand near the crowd. 

"I see you've all come here today to try out for the Gryffindor Quidditch team," he announced, taking them all in. "I'm the team Captain, and in case any of you didn't know it by now, my name is Harry Potter. I play the position of Seeker, and Ron here plays Keeper. We have five spots to fill, so the chances of getting on the team are higher than is usual. We will be looking to fill the positions of three Chasers and two Beaters, so let's see what you've got." 

Several boys and girls tried out that day, and Harry and Ron watched from the ground as they demonstrated their abilities at flying, making goals, working as a team member, playing both offense and defense, and just their general attitude during the course of the pretend game. Finally, after they were all done, Harry told them that he would need to discuss a few things with Ron, and then they would have their choices made. 

Harry and Ron huddled together, and the group of Gryffindors anxiously awaited the outcome. After several long minutes, Harry turned to face them and said, "Our decisions have been made. The new Gryffindor Beaters are Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper, and the new Chasers are Ginny Weasley, Natalie McDonald, and Dennis Creevey." 

The students who had made the team cheered, and Ginny came up to Harry and embraced him, which came as a surprise to him. There were several sounds of disappointment among the others, and slowly, everyone dissipated from the field, leaving Ron, Ginny, and Harry alone. 

"Er, I'll see you both inside," Ron said to Harry as he noticed how close Ginny was still standing to him. 

"Sure thing, mate," Harry replied. "See you later." 

Once Ron left, Ginny smiled at Harry, saying, "Thank you so much, Harry. You've no idea just what this means to me." 

"Er," Harry hesitated awkwardly, scratching the back of his neck. "It was nothing." 

"Uh-huh," Ginny countered, not believing him. "You know, Harry, I've been thinking about how much you've been through... how much we've been through these past few years... and, well..." 

She blushed as red as her hair and looked at her feet. Harry smiled in spite of himself at her, murmuring, "Yeah, we have been through a lot together, haven't we?" 

"Yeah..." she drifted off. "Harry, I was just thinking..." 

"Yes?" 

"Thinking... that's all..." 

"Er, okay..." Harry replied, quite confused as to just what was going on. 

Ginny suddenly leaned forward and kissed him quickly on the lips, giggled, and retreated before he could say anything. He brought his hand up to his lips, a faint smile across his face, unsure as to what just happened... wondering if it was really even occurred. The sun was setting, and all Harry could do was stand there in awe, staring at the western horizon, lost to the world. He stared at the vibrant colors of the sunset that had been cast upon some feathery clouds, and the breeze blew gently around, mussing his already unruly black hair even more. For once, Harry's world seemed normal. He felt his heart pounding with emotion for a girl he had secretly adored from the moment he had laid eyes on her, and his mind was high above the Quidditch stands, flying with his broom as it chased after the Snitch, that small golden ball that would award him greatly... perhaps symbolizing that small bit of hope that would keep him going. 


	12. Chapter Twelve

Chapter Twelve

After a full week of tryouts for all four Quidditch teams had passed, everyone looked forward to the beginning of training the following week. Harry anxiously awaited the first day of training, hoping to improve the Gryffindor Quidditch team, making it even better from its former days of glory when Oliver Wood had been the captain of the team. The first game wouldn't be for another three weeks, so that gave them plenty of time to prepare, and overall, Harry's general attitude was confident. To make matters even better, Harry's heart was pounding with joy inside his chest, for ever since the day Ginny had kissed him on the Quidditch pitch, he felt like his chest would burst open. 

"Hey, mate, did you hear me?" Ron asked. 

Harry came out of his reverie and stared at Ron with a puzzled expression plastered across his young features. They had been sitting in the Gryffindor Common Room, supposedly studying on that late Friday afternoon in front of a crackling fire. 

"Er, sorry... no," Harry replied slowly. "What did you want?" 

"I was asking you if you were plannin' on going to Hogsmeade tomorrow afternoon. It's the first weekend visit planned for the year, and I can't wait. I want to stop by Fred and George's and check out their newest line of merchandise," Ron chattered on excitedly. 

Harry smiled ruefully at his friend and nodded, saying, "Of course I'll go. Why wouldn't I?" 

"Oh, I dunno," Ron teased, "maybe because you'll be too busy snogging my baby sister." 

"I heard that, Ronald Weasley!" a voice very much resembling Molly Weasley's exclaimed. Ron suddenly felt a hand smacking him squarely in the back of the head, to which he brought his hand to the slightly sore spot and groaned in mock pain. 

"Oh, please," Ginny said, sitting down on one of the armchairs, rolling her eyes in the process. "Like your thick head would even feel a thing!" 

Ron was about to protest rather loudly when Hermione joined them, laughing at Ginny's latest comment. Sitting down next to Ron on the floor, she looked at him and observed, "You know, I think your sister makes a very valid point, Ron." 

Harry couldn't suppress his own laughter a minute longer, so he, too, joined in on the simple silliness of the whole scene. It was quite relieving to him to be able to laugh and pretend, if only for a short while, that he had not a care in the world. The likes of Voldemort and Death Eaters seemed further away from Harry's world than they had in a very long time. 

* * * * *

"The plan is ready, Master," Peter Pettigrew trembled as he knelt in front of the Dark Lord. 

"Is it, Peter?" Voldemort hissed dangerously low. "Because I do not want any mistakes. Is that perfectly clear?" 

Voldemort's red eyes bore into Wormtail as if they were examining every last inch of the pitiful excuse for a man... more like a miserable rat. Pettigrew shook uncontrollably, despite his not-so-valiant efforts to retain some control over himself. Daring to look into Voldemort's eyes, Pettigrew's voice faltered as he replied, "Y-yes, sir... I mean, my lord. No... no mistakes." 

"Good, then make sure that you keep this with you," the Dark Lord cooed silkily, handing a small vial to the rat. 

Extending his right silver hand, Pettigrew took the offered vial and placed it inside his robe's inner pockets. Voldemort handed two more indentical vials to two other Death Eaters, Avery and Nott, and then he retreated into the darkness, leaving his servants to do his bidding. 

* * * * *

Saturday afternoon brought beautiful weather for a mid-September day, and as the students talked over lunch about their trip to Hogsmeade that very afternoon, Snape sat up at the Head Table, glowering down at them and at the plate of food in front of him. 

"Oh, surely it isn't that bad, Severus," Dumbledore said off to the side. 

Snape didn't bother to look at the old wizard, but instead, he picked up his fork and stabbed it into a piece of beef that was on his plate. Bringing the fork to his mouth, he chewed on the helpless piece of meat like it was being punished. He then set his fork back down on the plate and quickly wiped his face with a serviette. Standing up to leave, Snape was once again graced with the persistant voice of Albus Dumbledore. 

"Leaving so soon, Severus?" 

"Excuse my manners," Snape drawled sarcastically, "but unlike you, Headmaster, I have to prepare to escort a bunch of hormone-driven teenagers to a place where they can load up on sugar and jokes." 

"On with you, then," Dumbledore replied genially and left Snape to retreat to his chambers in the dungeons for the time being. 

As Snape descended the stairwell leading to the dungeons, his facial expression hardened, only adding further to his dislike of having to "babysit" on a Saturday afternoon. He much preferred to spend his Saturdays doing his own personal research or reading the latest articles in _Ars Alchemica_, but not this weekend. Dumbledore had appointed Snape and McGonagall as the chaperones for the trip to Hogsmeade, and although the Deputy Headmistress found much enjoyment in prancing merrily into town and enjoying the company of others over Butterbeer and Chocolate Frogs, Snape wanted no part of it. If nothing else, he figured that he could at least stop in the apothecary and pick up some ingredients for his experiments. 

He promptly removed his academic robes and draped them over the back of a chair and reached for his frock coat. Making sure that all the necessary wards were in place, he left the room and headed for the main entrance hall. 

Meanwhile, the students had finished eating lunch and were filing into the entrance hall as well. As Harry and his friends filtered past a group of Ravenclaw third years, who were all exuberantly jabbering about their first trip to Hogsmeade, Harry noticed that Snape was standing near the front door, looking as imposing as ever. 

Leaning toward Ron, he muttered, "Don't tell me he's coming along." 

Before Ron could speak, Hermione replied, "Well, of course he is, Harry. You know that the professors take turns chaperoning the students. It's all a part of ensuring our safety." 

"I'd rather ensure my safety to a spider going for the kill," mumbled Ron, to which Harry nodded in full agreement. 

Once everyone had gathered, McGonagall announced for the students to follow her through the front door and to the gate of the grounds. Snape was to take up the rear of the long line of students. They filed out through the double doors and down the front stairs, quickly across the grounds, and before Harry realized it, they were nearing Hogsmeade. 

As they entered the quaint village, Ron's eyes immediately fell upon Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, and he practically dragged Harry, Hermione, and Ginny into the store. While inside the infamous joke shop, Harry watched with sheer amusement as Fred and George shared their latest inventions with the ever-growing Hogwarts crowd. Many of the Gryffindor students had been fans of the Weasley twins and their off the wall sense of humor, and they were more than willing to be guinea pigs for their newest tricks. Ron gazed at the numerous rows of candies and tricks with amazement, and when he noticed a red colored candy on a stick that appeared to be some sort of a lollipop, he reached for it. Curious, he unwrapped it and read the label right before he placed it in his pocket. 

"Tongue twister," he mused. "Hmmm, I wonder what it does." 

Ron placed the candy inside his mouth, and although it tasted wonderful (like wild cherry), his tongue began to coil uncontrollably inside his mouth. The piece of candy became lodged in his mouth, stuck between his twisting tongue and the roof of his mouth. He cried out incoherently in fright, and many eyes regarded him curiously. 

"Oh, I see Ron's gone and tried one of our Tongue Twisters," Fred mused. 

"Yep, they're a real kick on the mouth, so to speak," added George. "Don't you worry, little bro; it'll dissolve soon enough." 

"And your tongue will be back to normal," Fred finished, smiling widely. 

If Ron would have been able to speak at the very moment in time, Harry wasn't sure he would have wanted to hear what words would have come forth from his mouth. The youngest Weasley brother was bright red in the face, but like the twins said, the candy dissolved soon enough, leaving Ron able to speak again. 

He breathed heavily for a few moments before saying anything, but his poor tongue was spent. 

"What kind of sick- " he began to say, but he was cut off by several overly-excited voices as many Hogwarts students moved toward the Weasley twins, saying they wanted to try the Tongue Twisters for themselves. 

"Ron, you really should have read the label _before_ you placed it inside your mouth," Hermione lectured, shaking her head. 

Harry could only think to himself how much this scene resembled several others he had seen between his two best friends over the years. It was always the same: Ron did something foolish without first thinking through his actions, and Hermione in turn told him that what he had done was stupid. Ron usually would react by turning several shades of crimson, not wanting to acknowledge the fact that Hermione was right yet again. However, oddly enough, that did not happen this time. 

"You're right, Hermione," Ron replied, shaking his head. "What was I thinking?" 

"Perhaps you weren't thinking, Ron," she said matter-of-factly, eyeing him as if she were his mother. 

Ron hung his head in defeat and walked out of the joke shop, but none of the students, save for Harry and Hermione noticed. Ginny was occupied with the ever-growing crowd, and so, she was helping Fred and George hand out Tongue Twisters and other sorts of candy. Harry and Hermione exchanged glances and both shrugged, surprised by Ron's strange behavior, so they followed him out of the store and found him sitting on a bench outside. He was slumped over, his hands buried inside his worn coat pockets. 

"Ron, what's up, mate?" Harry asked, sitting down next to him. 

"Nothing," the red-haired boy muttered, his eyes downcast, examining his untied shoe laces, perhaps. 

"Oh, don't give me that," Hermione insisted, taking a seat on the other side of Ron. She placed an arm across his shoulders and continued, "Come on, now, Ron. Tell us what the matter is. Is it something I said?" 

"What d'you think?!" Ron exclaimed, suddenly standing up and throwing his arms up in the air in exasperation. "It's always the same thing. You're always right; I'm always wrong. You must really enjoy always knowing you have the upper hand, Hermione!" 

"What?" Hermione asked, totally taken aback with confusion. "I never said-" 

"No, Hermione," Ron countered. "You say it all the time!" 

"Oh? And what's 'it,' exactly? Enlighten me, Ron." 

Ron opened his mouth to continue the argument, but Harry came and stood in between the two of them. He sent glares in both their directions and began as evenly as possible, "I've known you both for five years now, and time and again, I have witnessed the two of you at odds with each other over trivial, oftentimes ridiculous, matters. Well, I'm finally going to tell you both what I should have said a long time ago. It's obvious that you two are meant for each other, yet you're just too daft at times to see it. These silly games you play with each other have become really old, and I won't stand here anymore and listen to the two of you bicker. I'll leave the two of you to yourselves to work out your 'lovers quarrel,' but I am sick and tired of being the middle man." 

Before either of them had a chance to reply or protest, Harry stomped off, wanting to be alone all of a sudden. He kicked at the dirt on the road, his shoes clicking over the cobblestone walkway. He looked up and down the street, wanting to just step inside one of the less frequented shops and be left to himself for a while. Harry seethed, thinking that his friends really had no idea how fortunate they were not to be in his position. They could perhaps easily enough go on living their lives without concerning themselves over him, and they could be happy together. Harry felt deep down inside that he may have been a part of the problem, a part of the reason Hermione and Ron had argued so much over the years. He was always stuck in the middle, trying to reconcile them in their differences, but he wouldn't stand for it any longer. If they had issues they needed to work out, then they could bloody well do it on their own terms... without him. 

Seeing the apothecary, Harry stepped inside. He had never been inside such a place before, and as he entered, his nose picked up the smells of several herbs and spices. Many slimy, foul things were kept in bottles and jars high up on shelves lining the walls, and all Harry could think was how much seeing such things reminded him of Snape's office. Snape. 

Harry's eyes came to rest upon the back of the said Potions Master, who was busily going through sachels, searching for some sort of ingredient for his wares. Snape's nose was hovering closely to the pouch, apparently taking in the scent of the powdered ingredient, perhaps trying to discern its freshness. The only other person in the shop was the shopkeeper himself, and he had just walked into the back room. Harry found himself taking a wary step forward, and as soon as his foot made contact with the old wooden floorboard, a long creak went through the floor, startling Snape out of his wits. The Potions Master stood erect in alarm, totally alerted to the disturbance, and his right hand was already on the end of his wand. He turned around immediately, and when he saw that it was none other than Harry Potter standing there, Snape's eyes narrowed with contempt. 

"Potter," he muttered dangerously. 

Harry was silent. 

"What are you up to now?" he questioned sharply. 

"I- uh, nothing," Harry replied, his voice shaking. He felt rather unnerved by what had just happened, but then a sudden feeling of insane triumph went through his veins, starting at his scar and then moving throughout his entire body. He doubled over in pain then, grabbing at his scar in agony as he fell to the floor. 

At the same time, Snape felt a twinge of pain in his left forearm. The Dark Lord was communicating his apparent victory about something. 

"Damn it, Potter!" Snape yelled, running over to him. "Must you make such a scene. What if someone heard you?" 

Suddenly, a really unsettling, piercing feeling went through Snape as he realized that the shopkeeper was no where in sight. He glanced around the shop with haste, and a draft came in through the back door off the back room that Harry had seen the shopkeeper go into when he had first entered the apothecary. 

"Lie low, Potter," Snape hissed. "And don't you dare make a sound." 

Harry nodded as he watched Snape, wand at the ready, walk into the back room. Snape cautiously eyed the room, not seeing any sign of life, so he moved to the back door and peered around it. 

Three men were holding a struggling young man in an alley. One of them muttered a silencing charm on the adolescent boy. Before Snape's eyes, all three of the men began to change form, and the one who he had thought was the shopkeeper turned out to be a fellow Death Eater: Avery. Peter Pettigrew's silver hand gleamed menacingly in the bright afternoon sun as the young man looked with horror upon that hand. 

"What'd 'e say this young 'un's name was 'gain?" asked Nott. 

"Thomas... er, Dean Thomas, I reckon," Avery replied. "Mudblood, he is." 

Avery spat and smiled maniacally as Dean. Pettigrew raised his wand and muttered, "Stupefy," and the last thing Dean's innocent eyes saw before he blacked out was that wretched hand, the replacement of the severed hand that had aided in the rise of Voldemort and was Dean Thomas's greatest fear. The three Death Eaters apparated out of the alley, taking the student's limp body with them. 

Snape withdrew from the doorway and shook his head in defeat. He really loathed this part of his job. As he turned around to walk back into the main part of the store, he found himself face to face with Harry. 

"What just happened out there?" demanded Harry, glaring at Snape. 

"I don't have time for Twenty Questions, Mr. Potter," Snape replied impatiently, striding past Harry in haste. 

Harry had to run to keep up with Snape, but he pressed, "What aren't you telling me, Snape? You know as well as I do that Voldemort-" 

They were right near the entrance when Snape forcefully pressed Harry up against the doorframe, hissing, "Need I remind you _not_ to speak the Dark Lord's name in my presence, Potter?" 

"Fine!" Harry exclaimed, his eyebrows arching with growing anger. "But you owe me an explanation. You saw something happen back there; I bloody well know it. I felt the surge of his crazy joy shoot through my scar in jolts of pain. What happened?" 

"A student was taken!" Snape barked. "Are you pleased now that I have answered you? Now, get out of my way. All students must return to Hogwarts immediately." 

Harry silently watched as Snape marched into the street toward Professor McGonagall, and before five minutes had passed, all the students had been gathered together. The Boy Who Lived didn't even have a moment to try to understand what had just happened. He was herded into the school like the rest of the students, where it seemed was the only safe place for them to be. 


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Thirteen

The hour was late, and darkness had fallen over the world... over Harry's world, even more foreboding than any blackness that surrounded him. He lay in bed that night, the covers pulled up to his chin with both of his arms crossed behind his head. He stared aimlessly up at the ceiling of the four-poster's canopy, willing himself to try to clear his mind, hoping beyond hope that he would be able to find solace and sleep that unsettling night. Beyond the closed drapes that surrounded his bed, the other Gryffindor boys managed to sleep, and he could hear their faint snores and steady breathing, but one bed was empty. One bed that the previous night had housed the body of Harry's friend and classmate, Dean Thomas, now laid cold and unused amidst the circular dorm room. 

Harry turned onto his side and pulled his covers higher, until his head was nearly completely covered. He squeezed his eyes shut, wincing with anguish and pain over the dizzy feeling within his stomach. Empty his mind, indeed. Harry silently spat over such words, for they reminded him all too much of the previous year when Snape had tried to burn those very words into his head during Occlumency lessons. 

_Hella good those lessons did me,_ Harry thought. _I was able to block Voldemort when I wanted to... when the time called for it at the Ministry... but it was... too late..._

One lone, rebel tear managed to escape from its imprisonment behind Harry's closed eyes, and then before he could control himself any longer, Harry reached the breaking point, and the tears flowed relentlessly, like a mighty river overpowering the dam that had been built up to block its flow. The young Gryffindor buried his head in the pillow, sobbing uncontrollably, soaking the pillow. He finally was drained and left feeling more alone than ever. Harry knew then that he couldn't stay in this room a moment longer. He reached for his glasses on the nightstand beside the bed and wiped his eyes with his sleeve, then placed his round spectacles over his red, swollen eyes. 

Standing up, Harry slipped his feet into his slippers and reached into his trunk for his Invisibility Cloak. He left the room as quietly as was possible, but the other boys were all slumbering deeply, so they were left undisturbed as Harry closed the door and proceeded to walk down the stairwell to the Gryffindor Common Room. Once he reached the Common Room, he didn't feel any sense of comfort. The fire that had been burning fervently in the grate just hours before had been long since been extinguished, leaving the usually bright and warm room feeling desolate and cold. The comfortable armchairs appeared as black masses within the room, and what little starlight managed to enter through the windows was not enough to give the sad room any sort of glow. 

Harry sighed and shook his head, thinking that he needed an escape from this place. Being anywhere near anything Gryffindor only served as a further reminder that one of his fellow Gryffindors had been taken and was probably now dead, his body left lying in some forgotten ditch or alleyway somewhere. He pushed such horrific thoughts away as he left the Gryffindor Common Room through the portal in the wall and began wandering without thinking through the halls of Hogwarts. 

As Harry strolled slowly through the hallways, his eyebrows arched with anger as he thought about what had happened earlier that day in Hogsmeade. Snape had been witness to the entire incident in that back alley, yet he had done nothing... _nothing_... to stop it. He had simply stood there in the doorway as those Death Eaters were taking poor Dean to his demise, and Harry found himself wondering if Snape had _enjoyed_ watching something so terrible. The Potions Master seemed to find pleasure in tormenting Harry with his venomous words and harsh demeanor, and after all, Snape had been a Death Eater. For all accounts on the side of Voldemort and his followers, they still thought that Snape was on their side. This wasn't the first time that Harry had questioned where Snape's loyalties resided. What if the sneaky Slytherin of a man had simply been fooling Dumbledore all these long years, simply feeding off the Headmaster's kindness, forgiveness, and trust? Harry thought that Dumbledore would be too powerful to be fooled in such a way, but after seeing the weak side of the old wizard back in June, Harry had since come to realize that Dumbledore was fallible just like anyone else. 

Harry had lost himself in his thoughts as he wandered, for he suddenly realized that he was now standing in the dungeons, of all accursed places. He momentarily panicked when he also realized that Snape was pacing the corridor, his black form stalking menacingly through the place, and he was headed straight toward Harry. Harry turned to walk away and go back up the stairs, but as he turned, his cloke caught on his right slipper, causing him to fall to the floor, and the cloke fell off, completely revealing himself. Harry hastily reached for his sacred tool of invisibility, but it was too late. Snape's eyes came to rest upon Harry's form, and with a penetrating glare, Snape stopped only a couple of feet away from Harry. 

"And what, pray," he whispered dangerously, "have we here? Mr. Potter, care to explain yourself?" 

Harry regarded Snape nervously, swallowing the lump in his throat, but then his brow furrowed as all previous thoughts came rushing back to him, and regainig his composure, Harry stood up and brought himself to his full height, which was still considerably shorter than the Potions Master. Try as he might, Harry's return glare did not rival Snape's, but Harry replied just as dangerously low, "Why should I be the one explaining myself to you?" 

Snape sneered, "Ten points from Gryffindor, Potter, for your insolance and lack of complete respect and ten more points for wandering the halls after curfew. You know the rules, Mr. Potter, and perhaps it is high time you start paying attention to them, lest you do yourself further harm." 

"What is that supposed to mean?" Harry retorted. "Are you threatening me? Would you rather see me taken like Dean was and tortured by Death Eaters while you simply stand there as an onlooker, never once wavering, but merely enjoying watching someone else suffer? Would that satisfy your complete loathing of me, Snape?" 

Harry turned quickly on his heel and wanted nothing more than to be away from the vile man that had taunted him and those he cared about, but then something totally unexpected happened. Before Harry was more than ten feet away, he heard Snape's voice. 

"Mr. Potter... wait." 

If he wasn't mistaken, Harry thought he heard a slight quiver in Snape's usually smooth voice, but other than that, it sounded just as heartless as ever. Harry stopped, but he did not turn around. He wanted nothing more than to punch Snape squarely in the nose for everything he had been put through by the treacherous man, but the Boy Who Lived stood there frozen, unable to move. 

"Turn around and face me, Potter," Snape demanded. 

"Why should I?" Harry challenged, baring his teeth. 

"Blast you, Potter," Snape scowled, losing his patience. "For once in your life, listen to me. Turn around." 

"Fine," Harry spat, wheeling around fiercely to face Snape. "I'm turned around." 

"This is not a game, Mr. Potter," Snape said, watching Harry's facial expression carefully, "but there are rules, and you cannot just go about doing whatever it is your thick head tells you. Do you have any idea just what I sacrifice by doing my small part in his whole war? No, you don't, Mr. Potter, and for your information, you are wrong." 

"I'm wrong?" Harry asked in confusion. 

"Yes, you are wrong. If you think for one moment that I enjoyed standing there today watching a student be taken, then you are very wrong. There was nothing I could do... nothing. Do you understand? Had I made myself known in that instant in front of those Death Eaters, my cover would have been blown. There is more at stake here than just one student's life." 

"It hasn't just been one student!" Harry hissed. "What about Cedric? What about my parents? What about Sirius... and- and everyone else who died last time?" 

"My point exactly, Mr. Potter." 

"But- oh..." The sudden realization came over Harry in that instant. He had known it all along, but he had been so bend on his own anger and frustration that he had failed to see it. "It's about all our lives," he said quietly. 

Harry looked up at Snape, wanting to know what he would say in reponse, but the Potions Master had already walked away. Harry was left alone, his mouth gaping open. He had never heard Snape speak like that to him in all his years at Hogwarts, but what had really just occurred? Had Snape _truly_ opened up just the smallest amount? Harry was still quite shocked by this new side - to him, anyway - of the Potions Master, but from that day forward, Harry would never look at Snape in the same manner again. 

With nothing else to do, Harry returned to his dorm and finally drifted off to sleep, because believe it or not, Snape, of all people, had actually granted Harry some sort of strange peace of mind that abberant night. 

* * * * *

Sunday called for an emergency staff meeting in Dumbledore's office to discuss the events of the previous afternoon in Hogsmeade. As soon as everyone had finished dinner in the Great Hall that evening, they went to the Headmaster's private study, where he patiently waited for them to find a seat. Despite his efforts to make the situation under which they met seem inviting by offering tea and having several candles lit throughout the heavily ornamented room, the overall feeling of the place was unnerving and tense. Worried glances were cast about the room, but once Dumbledore took his place at the head of the gathering, everyone turned their attention to him. 

"I am quite sure you are all aware of the happenings in Hogsmeade yesterday afternoon," he began gravely, "so that is precisely the reason I have called this emergency staff meeting. I want to thank you all for taking time out of your busy schedules to be here, but as you all know, the safety and well-being of our students is a number one priority. Yesterday, Dean Thomas, a sixth year Gryffindor, was kidnapped during our student outing to Hogsmeade. I haven't heard anything since then regarding his whereabouts, but sadly, I think it would be safe to say that we can assume the worst." 

Several gasps were heard throughout the room from the women, but other than that, there were nothing but silence. Dumbledore regarded everyone with defeat written in his eyes and sorrow upon his aged face. 

"For that reason," he continued solemnly, "all future Hogsmeade visits have been cancelled until further notice. We cannot risk another attack on a student. I will be talking to the Ministry tomorrow morning immediately after breakfast, though, and it is my hope that Cornelius will send some Aurors to Hogsmeade and keep them stationed there. Unfortunately, the Ministry has not done anything since June to aid us in this war." 

"Fudge is an ol' fool!" Hagrid exclaimed, standing up with anger. "He hasn' done a bloody thing. Dumbledore, sir, yeh've gotta take matters into yer own hands, I'm 'fraid." 

"Yes, yes, Hagrid," Dumbledore acknowledged the half-giant, "but even in my position, there is only so much I can do. I trust everyone here to take extra precautions around Hogwarts, especially on the grounds. The Heads of House will need to ensure that their respective houses are following the new rules, as I plan to make an announcement tomorrow morning about them." 

Heads nodded around the room in agreement, followed by a few murmurs. Dumbledore looked at all their concerned faces and concluded, "If there are no more questions, then I think it is safe to call an end to this meeting. I thank you for your time." 

There were no further questions to be asked, so the meeting quickly disbanded, leaving the Headmaster alone for the night. Among those who walked out together, Lupin and Snape managed to brush shoulders as they left the office. 

"Pardon me, Severus," Lupin said softly, not looking at Snape. 

"It's all right," Snape mumbled, which came as somewhat of a surprise to Lupin, since Snape's usual reaction would have been to scowl and retreat quickly. 

Lupin sighed as they continued down the corridor. "What a night," he remarked. "I just can't believe it's true..." 

"Believe it, Lupin," Snape said faintly, keeping his eyes diverted toward the floor. 

Something in Snape's tone was unsettling to Lupin, so he stopped and placed a hand gently on Snape's shoulder, willing him to stop stalking through the hallway so fast. Snape started upon feeling human contact, but then he stood there as stiff as a statue. 

"Severus?" Lupin asked. "Is something wrong?" 

"It is none of your concern," Snape replied, trying to put some bite into his tone, but his attempt was rather feeble. 

"Is it because- because you witnessed-" 

"I said it's none of your concern!" Snape barked, suddenly fixing a hard glare on Lupin's concerned face. 

Before Lupin could say another word, the Potions Master had left as impetuously as he could. Snape returned immediately to his private chambers and sulked in his chair in front of the fireplace. The fire that burned within the grate was small and offered no warmth whatsoever to the cold man. 

He crossed his arms tensely across his lean body and glowered at the nearly non-existent flames. _How could those fools ever understand?_ he thought. They didn't know what it felt like to have to put up a front for so many years and pretend to be one person in one situation and someone else completely in another situation. They didn't know how much it stung to sit by and watch the damage be done... did they? 

Snape thought about his encounter with Harry Potter the previous night, and he partly wanted to kick himself for being that open with the boy. He never let his guard down, damnit, especially in front of a Gryffindor student who was far too much like his father, but he had left his guard down, even if for only a moment. Did Snape regret it? Yes and no. 

Nothing was black and white in his life and probably never would be. He was used to everything being blurred and not falling into the "good" or the "bad" categories. Only people like Dumbledore and Voldemort could be so easily placed into neat little drawers and labeled, but people like Snape, who were constantly walking the fence between the two sides, they were some type of muddled grey that had stained the white for having spent too much time amongst the darker colors. 

He reached for a bottle of whiskey and prompty downed it in a few gulps and heavily replaced it to its spot on the table. Then, standing up wearily, Snape sauntered into the bathroom and reached for a vial of Draught of the Living Death. A potent sleeping draught for a dreamless sleep was the only way he would find any sort of rest. He went to bed and was among the last to do so that night within the walls of Hogwarts. 

The school stood dark and silent among the stars of early-autumn, and to any onlooker, it would have been difficult to imagine that so much fear and unease resided with those sturdy walls. To everyone outside, it seemed just another peaceful September night, but anyone was dared to look a little deeper would find how true Lupin's words to Harry had been: Never take anything - or anyone - at face value if you can help it. 

One thing was for certain, though. Sirius still shone bright as ever in the night sky. 


	14. Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fourteen

The turning point had come. From that strange evening when Harry had been wandering the halls of Hogwarts and had found himself in the dungeons, face to face with Snape, things between Snape and Harry would never be the same again. Life was an odd thing, indeed, for it more often than not hurled obstacles and surprises in the way of the unsuspecting traveller along life's long road to... where, exactly? Harry wasn't sure if he knew, but for now, he was just trying to survive day to day. The future was a murky pond full of questionable monsters, and that was not something the young wizard wanted to dwell on. 

Classes and homework filled much of Harry's days, and as he immersed himself in the work, he did so merely to try to keep his mind off Voldemort and the war that was at work within the wizarding world. Quidditch was there as well to help fill the void, and if anyone had wonderful, supportive friends, it was Harry. Ron and Hermione especially were understanding of Harry's reclusive behavior, but Ginny had been rather distant since that kiss on the Quidditch pitch. Weeks passed, and Halloween arrived with all its enchantment and wonder. 

The Great Hall had been decorated with glowing Jack-O-Lanterns that hovered in midair high above the tables, and the Halloween Feast was as brilliant and impressive as ever. Harry was sitting in one of the armchairs in the Gryffindor Common Room, his nose buried in his Charms book, and both Ron and Hermione were regarding him curiously. 

"Keep that look up, Harry," Ron teased, "and people will start confusing you with Hermione here." He gestured at Hermione, who in turned scoffed and shook her head, rolling her eyes in mock annoyance. 

"Really, Harry," Hermione added. "I most certainly never thought I would be the one prying you away from a book. Come on, the feast is just about to begin." 

Harry looked up from the book and nodded, placing it in his bag next to the chair. He silently went through the portal with his friends, who exchanged glances. Why had Harry been so quiet as of late? 

They reached the Great Hall in a matter of only a few minutes, and upon taking their respective seats at the Gryffindor table, Harry found himself flanked by Ron and Hermione. Ron wasted no time in digging into the food, and Hermione pleasantly talked with Ginny, who was seated across from her. Sitting across from Harry was Neville Longbottom, who Harry suddenly found staring at him questioningly. 

"What?" Harry asked. 

"Er... nothing," Neville lied. He wasn't a very good liar, though, for his cheeks went all red, and he avoided looking Harry in the eyes. 

"Oh, really?" Harry implored. "Then why the funny look?" 

Neville leaned forward and whispered, "It's just that you've been so quiet even since... well, you know..." 

"I'm fine," Harry muttered falsely. He most certainly didn't feel fine, but neither did he want to be discussing the disappearance and assumed death of Dean Thomas. Neville shared a room with Harry, after all, so he was remained of his classmate's absence every time he laid eyes on Dean's empty bed as well. 

"You sure?" Neville persisted. 

"Yes," Harry said exasperately. "Now, if that's all." 

Harry fixed Neville was a penetrating glare, and Neville finally took the hint that Harry wanted to be left alone. Making a rather feeble attempt at eating, Harry poked at the food on his plate, but his appetite was practically nonexistent. He glanced from Hermione and Ron, noticing that they both seemed preoccupied, so Harry quietly excused himself, thinking that he would call it an early night and retire to bed for the evening. 

He left the Great Hall, leaving all the noises of excitement and smells of delicious food behind him. As he headed down the hallway, he passed Lupin's office door, noticing that it was slightly ajar. Harry hadn't noticed if Lupin had been in the Great Hall at the Head Table with the other professors, so he decided to peek into the office and see if he was inside. Sure enough, upon looking inside the office, Harry watched as a very weary Lupin sat leaned over his desk. He had some papers spread out in front of him, but he was not reading them or grading them. Instead, his quill had been dropped to the side of the surface, and each of his hands was gripping fervently at the sides of his head, his elbows resting on the table. 

Pushing the door upon with a resounding creak, Lupin bolted up with a start, and just as Harry apologized, Lupin recovered himself and smiled tiredly. 

"Oh, Harry," he said, sighing, "it's just you." 

"I thought you'd be in the Great Hall," Harry simply replied. 

"No, I'm afraid not tonight," Lupin frowned. "If you've looked at the sky recently, you'd notice that the moon is nearly full." 

"Oh," Harry nodded. "Right." 

There was silence for a moment, and Harry began to wonder if he should leave the professor in peace, but then Lupin invited him in. 

"It's still a couple of hours away yet," he explained, offering Harry a seat. "Besides, I've already taken the Wolfsbane." 

Harry sat down and nodded again, unsure of what to say. 

"Was there something you wanted?" Lupin questioned curiously. "I would have expected you to still be in the Great Hall with your friends." 

Harry shifted uncomfortably in the chair. "I- I guess I just didn't feel like I belonged there for some reason," he tried to explain. "I mean, ever since... ever since Hogsmeade, things are only seeming more bleak. I keep wondering how many more people have to die before this whole blasted thing is over," Harry spat, furrowing his eyebrows. 

Lupin stood up from his chair and came around the desk, kneeling down on the floor in front of Harry and trying to gauge the boy's condition. Concern was clearly etched all over Lupin's prematurely aged face as he took Harry's hand in his own. 

"Harry," he began as firmly as he could, "look at me." 

Harry sighed and brought his green eyes to meet Lupin's amber ones. His glasses were sliding down his nose, but Harry didn't seen fazed. 

"Listen, Harry," Lupin continued earnestly. "This battle has been going on for ages, not just since Voldemort has been roaming the earth. There have been wizards throughout history who have tried to rule the whole wizarding world, claiming that purebloods were the only righteous wizards and that all others should be killed off. I'm a halfblood, Harry, and I'm a werewolf. That doesn't exactly give me an easy lot in life, does it?" 

Harry shook his head. 

"Just remember that you're not alone, Harry. There are people out there... friends and allies of yours... who do partly understand what you're going through. Both of my parents were killed last time the Death Eaters went about doing their horrible business, so I at least do understand some of the loss you've suffered. Sirius," he paused, gulping sadly, "was my friend, too. The dead never truly leave us, though, not as long as we keep them alive in our memory of them." 

Harry listened closely and carefully to each word Lupin told him, and they reverberated through Harry's young body with profound truth and wisdom, reminding Harry of something Dumbledore had told him years ago: 

_"You think the dead we loved ever truly leave us? You think that we don't recall them more clearly than ever in times of great trouble? ... After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."_

"I'm not afraid of dying, you know," Harry admitted softly. "It's just the loss of everyone else that hurts so much..." 

"I know, Harry; I know," Lupin reassured him, placing his arms around him. Harry returned the embrace, and when they parted, Lupin smiled weakly at him, saying, "It's getting late, and I fear to say that the transformation could occur at any moment now. I wish you a good night, Harry." 

"Good night, Remus," Harry replied, standing up from the chair. 

He sent a small but very appreciative smile in Lupin's direction and headed out the door. Returning to his dorm, Harry sat down on his bed heavily and released a breath he didn't know he had been holding. Leaning over the foot of the bed and opening his trunk, Harry sifted through its contents until he found the mirror that Sirius had given him the previous year. Retrieving it from the rest of the things, Harry held it in his hands, gently running his index finger along the edges and then along the surface of the glass, which had been broken when Harry had shattered it in rage at the end of his fifth year. He looked at his image in the mirror, and like his fragmented reflection, Harry felt much the same way. He wondered when and if he would ever feel complete again. 

"If only I could reach you, Sirius," he said absently to the mirror, but only Harry's own reflection stared back. He turned the mirror over and replaced it and then closed the trunk lid firmly. He leaned back against the mattress of his four-poster and sighed, recalling to mind something else Dumbledore had told him: 

_"It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live, remember that."_

Those were the words that the Headmaster had spoken to Harry when the much younger Harry had been gazing longingly into the Mirror of Erised at his long-lost family. Harry wondered what he would see now if he looked into the Mirror now. Would he see Sirius? Even if he did, it wouldn't change anything. Sirius was gone now. Harry knew that, but he didn't want to accept it. 

Meanwhile, Lupin had left his office and retired within his chambers for the night. He felt very worn out and dizzy, knowing that the transformation would be occurring at any moment. He was idly glancing through his old yearbook from his days at Hogwarts, smiling slightly at the pictures of his old friends. Of all the Marauders, he was the last one left. Peter Pettigrew was as good as dead, after all, and Lupin was quite sure that if he could get his own hands on Pettigrew, he would promptly strangle the wretched creature himself. He thought with bitter humor about ripping the rat to shreds while in his werewolf form, but he knew that Wormtail's death would not avenge the loss of James and Sirius. 

As his bones and muscles ached, Lupin could feel the changes begin to occur within his body. At first, the pain was mild, but it slowly intensified until he fell to the floor. He heartbeat increased, and his pupils dilated. Then, the transformation from man to wolf took full-force, and his body changed form and became covered in light brown and grey hair. The werewolf yawned and sat down in front of the yearbook, regarding it sadly. If there was one thing about Wolfsbane that was unfortunate, perhaps it was the fact that Lupin couldn't escape from his emotions while in his wolf form. Sometimes being a monster was easier. 

The night passed, and morning dawned, bleak and cloudy. November had begun, but thankfully it was a Sunday. Harry slept later than most of the rest of his House, and by the time he finally rolled out of bed, breakfast was long past. He dressed and headed down to the Common Room, where he was greeted by Ron and Hermione. Hermione had apparently been helping Ron with homework, and as Harry took a seat, he noticed how close they were sitting to each other. He had his suspicions that they were more than just friends now, but he didn't have the desire or the inclination to ask. 

"Good morning, Harry," Hermione said. "It's nearly afternoon, though." 

"You missed a great breakfast," Ron added. "Speaking of meals, why'd you leave early last night?" 

"I just wasn't really that hungry." 

"You look positively horrible," Hermione pointed out with concern. "I mean, you're so pale and thin. Maybe you should see Madame Pomfrey." 

"I'm fine," Harry insisted. 

"No, you're not, mate," Ron countered. "C'mon, what's going on with you?" 

Harry was finding himself easily annoyed, but then, as he watched his friends, a sudden feeling of loathing entered his mind. He glowered at them and stood up, approaching Ron with extreme anger, ready to attack, but a small voice in Harry's mind was trying to fight the feeling. 

_Go away, go away, go away,_ the voice repeated firmly. _Get out of my head._

Harry couldn't say anything as Ron looked upon him with shock and began to back away, but then the small voice grew louder and more determined. 

_I said get out of my head! Go away now!_

Still, Harry was closing in on Ron, and Ron was running out of room. By the twisted look on Harry's face, Ron knew that something was definitely wrong with his friend. 

"Harry, it's me, mate," he stammered. "It's Ron... your friend." 

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, trying to get in the way of him as he closed in on Ron. 

_GET OUT OF MY HEAD! GO AWAY, GO AWAY, GO AWAY NOW!!_

Suddenly, Harry stopped dead in his tracks, and the feeling of complete hatred dispelled. Shaking his head and blinking a few times, Harry glanced nervously from Hermione to Ron, Ron to Hermione. 

"I- " he began unsteadily. "I'm sorry." 

Then before either of them could say anything, Harry darted out of the room. Voldemort had been inside him again, trying to control him, and Harry knew that it had taken much longer than he had intended to drive the Dark Lord out of his mind. He wanted to run away and never return, for he feared that he would be Voldemort's own weapon of destruction against everyone he held dear. Harry barged through the front doors and ran down the steps and continued across the grounds, his gaze fixed resolutely upon the gates. He wanted out. He needed out. 

But then a sudden black mass glided out of nowhere right in front of him and yelled, "Stop!" 

Harry nearly fell over, but a sturdy hand steadied him, but the grip on his arm was tight. Looking up, Harry's eyes met those of Snape. 

"What on earth was that little display, Mr. Potter?" Snape barked. "Care to explain?" 

Snape gruffly released Harry's arm and fixed him with a fierce glare. 

"What's there to explain?" Harry retorted. "I'm a threat and a menace to the rest of the wizarding world, so they'd be better off without me." 

"Boy, is your head on straight? When was the last time you looked in the mirror and saw a reptilian face with red eyes, Mr. Potter? You are not the Dark Lord, so unless you are having an identity crisis and need to put yourself out of your misery, my Lord, then I severely suggest you return to the castle, where students such as yourself belong, Potter." 

"He was inside me!" Harry shouted with rage. "Don't you understand what that makes? Doesn't anyone, or are you all too damned daft to figure it out by now? Voldemort's trying to possess me!" 

Snape visibility flinched at the mention of Voldemort's horrid name and found himself pulling Harry violently toward him, shaking the boy. 

"Stop this insane talk this instant, Potter," Snape snarled. "You are the only person who can destroy the Dark Lord, and if you don't do it, then we're all damned... every last one of us. If you need reminding of that, I'll gladly oblige," he finished sarcastically. 

Harry wanted to deck Snape and run, but he reluctantly knew that the Potions Master was right. Dropping his head, Harry sighed. "You... you're right." 

Snape released Harry and nodded curtly. "Good, I'm glad we understand each other, then, Mr. Potter." 

Harry nodded. 

"Let us return to the castle," Snape instructed, wanting to ensure that Harry actually did return. 

Harry quietly followed Snape back into Hogwarts, and the doors closed to the outside world, but inside Hogwarts's walls and even inside Harry's mind, he wasn't safe. 


	15. Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Fifteen

Harry was sitting among his friends during breakfast at the Gryffindor table, helping himself to seconds of the delicious meal that consisted of sausage links, pancakes and maple syrup, and poached eggs. It was a Saturday in mid-November, the day that marked the Gryffindor-Slytherin Quidditch match. Harry was looking forward to the game, hoping that it would be a distraction from everything that had occurred since the start of his sixth year at Hogwarts. As the new Captain for his team, he had been having more practices for the Gryffindors, preparing them as best as he could for the upcoming match. Soon enough, the day had come. 

He knew that he would need his energy, so that was primarily the reason for his large appetite... that, and the simple fact that he was a sixteen-year-old boy who had an appetite much larger than that of the average person. Perhaps the only person at the table with Harry who seemed hungrier was Ron, who must have been on his third helping. Hermione, on the other hand, rolled her eyes at what she thought the insane absurdity of the seeming race of seeing who could consume the most food in the shortest period of time without promptly regurgitating it all afterwards. 

When Harry had finished eating breakfast, he rounded up the rest of the Gryffindor team and headed toward the pitch. As they walked across the grounds, the chilly air blew, tousling Harry's already unruly hair. Most of the trees were bare and now moved eerily back and forth in the unsettled wind. Before long, snow would be covering the ground, for winter was always long in northern Scotland. 

Harry blinked as the wind blew, and he wondered if the weather would affect the playing conditions. Surely they wouldn't dare cancel the game, at least Harry certainly hoped not. After all, he had played in pouring rain before, so what was a bit of wind? His red Quidditch robes billowing behind him, Harry stopped once he reached the playing field and turned to face the rest of the team. 

"All right, then," he addressed them. "You all know the drill. Let's show them what we've got, what we've been working extra hard for these past few weeks. Let's go in there and take this win. What d'you say?" 

He was trying his best to give them the typical pep talk before any match as their Captain, but with the relentless wind howling mercilessly all around them, it was difficult for the others to hear Harry's words. His little speech was followed with a few nods, but Harry couldn't help but to wonder if the less experienced players on the team would be able to handle playing in this wind. He certainly hoped so... for his sake as much as theirs. 

Just as Harry was about to lead his team onto the field for the start of the game, he suddenly heard a very familiar voice behind him sneer, "Well, if it isn't famous Potty-Pants and his little Weasel friend, the esteemed King from last year." 

Harry turned around and came face-to-face with none other than Draco Malfoy. Dressed in his Slytherin green robes and holding his Nimbus Two Thousand and One firmly in his right hand, the platinum-blonde, pale blue-eyed, pointy-featured nemesis of Harry Potter glared at him icily. Rolling his eyes, Harry replied, "You think your pathetic attempts at threatening my team will get you that long overdue win for Slytherin, Malfoy?" 

"That's not the point," Malfoy said haughtily. "I bet you think you're all high and mighty now that you're the new Captain, eh, Potter? Well, you're got another thing coming. I don't need to say anything, really, for we're bound to win this one, easy, especially considering the fact that most of your team is nothing but a bunch of newbies, some of which were simply fill ins for your team last year... Or have you forgotten, Potter, how you were thrown off the team last year for your little... outburst?" 

"You deserved every hit I gave you," Harry murmured in a menacingly low voice. "No one talks about my mother the way you did, Malfoy." 

Malfoy fixed Harry with a hard glare and turned on his heel, but as he walked away, he yelled, "If you ask me, you should have stayed permanently kicked off the team!" 

Harry chose to ignore any other remarks from Malfoy, so, turning to face his team once again, he led them to the middle of the field. High above them on all sides were the stands, which were filled to the brim with cheering students. The Gryffindors were calling wildly as their team entered the playing field, and the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws were cheering them on as well. Only the Slytherins booed them, but once the Slytherin team joined the middle of the field, several cheers came from the Slytherin section. 

Madam Hooch then came to stand between the two teams. As team Captains, Harry and the Slytherin captain, Montague, stood on either side of Hooch to her immediate right and left. She raised her arms and instructed them to mount their brooms, which they all did right away. She promptly blew her silver whistle and released the Quaffle into the air. Hooch included, fifteen brooms rose high up into the air, and the game began. 

Now as the team Captain, Harry would have to keep an eye on his fellow teammates more. When his sole job had been that of Seeker, Oliver Wood had told Harry to just look for the Golden Snitch. Flying higher above the other players, Harry allowed his gaze to move across the five hundred foot long pitch. On the other end near the goal hoops, Ron was guarding the scoring area, ready to make the necessary move. From up high, the wind was even worse than it had been on the ground, and as he flew around, Harry could barely hear the announcer's voice as he gave the game commentary. He squinted his eyes at the new announcer who had replaced Lee Jordan from the previous years, but Harry didn't recognize him... at least he couldn't tell who he was from such a great distance. 

"Ginny Weasley takes the Quaffle... It looks like she's positioned to score... and she- wait... It's blocked by Slytherin Keeper Bletchley. Montague takes the Quaffle... What's this? Oh, no... It's the Hawkshead Attacking Formation... Montague is joined by Chasers Baddock and Prichard... They're coming in hard... and- it looks like Gryffindor Beater Sloper is trying to intercede... Oh, the Bludger misses. Montague comes in close... Ron Weasley makes the move to block and... Slytherin scores. That's ten points to Slytherin... C'mon, Weasley! Show them what you've got! Those slimey Slytherins haven't got a chance!" 

"Hem-hem," Professor McGonagall said, clearing her throat at the announcer. "Keep your personal feelings out of the commentary, will you, Jordan? Honestly, your older brother was just as bad." 

"Yes, Professor," the younger Jordan replied and then continued with the commentary. "Looks like Crabbe and Goyle... (even though they're so thick)... aren't making it easy for new Gryffindor Chasers Natalie McDonald and Dennis Creevey. Looks like Natalie's got the Quaffle... Kirke and Sloper are... oh, what's this? Blown off course?" 

The wind suddenly picked up in a very strong gale, causing the two Gryffindor Beaters to loose their concentration and course. Natalie struggled to hold onto the Quaffle as the wind whipped around her, and despite the efforts of Ginny and Dennis, she dropped it, and Baddock from Slytherin took it and scored another ten points for Slytherin. 

Harry furrowed his brow in frustration. He muttered, "C'mon, Ron... You showed them what you had last year... Surely you can do it again..." 

He then gazed around the field again for the Snitch and noticed that Malfoy was focusing his eyes on an area far off to the left. Suddenly, the Slytherin Seeker made a mad dive for something, and suddenly, Harry saw it! The Golden Snitch! He took his attention off of his team, hoping that they would be able to manage, and began moving as fast as he could toward the area that Malfoy was headed. Harry rode his Firebolt like he never had before, and as he closed in on the area, he glared at Malfoy and continued to race ahead of him. The Firebolt was the fastest broom of any, and not even Malfoy's Nimbus Two Thousand and One could compete. 

Try as he might, Malfoy couldn't catch up to Harry, and as Harry closed his hand securely over the Golden Snitch, he made a tight fist and landed, holding it up in victory. He truly felt like he was glowing... like a part of him had come alive again after months of being so down. 

"Harry Potter proves his amazing abilities once again!" the announcer bellowed happily. "He's caught the Golden Snitch, earning Gryffindor one hundred and fifty points! Gryffindor wins, one hundred and fifty to twenty!" 

Harry beamed as the crowded cheered. In one hand, he still held the Snitch, but in the other hand, he held the broom that had helped bring him to victory yet again. It wasn't the first time the Firebolt had proven its worth, but something was different this time. Harry couldn't quite place it, but as he stood there, everyone rushing toward him, he felt like Sirius was alive again as well. In some way, the Firebolt that Sirius had given to Harry during his third year at Hogwarts reminded Harry of his late godfather. It had brought him victory so valiantly, so loyally... 

"Thank you, Sirius," Harry whispered. 

Hermione rushed up to Harry and squeezed him tightly, exclaiming, "Well done, Harry! Congratulations!" 

Hagrid was there as well, smiling heartily at his young friend. He gave Harry a rough, affectionate pat on the back and said, "Yeh've made me proud yet again, Harry. Tha' was amazin' wha' you did out there today! Yer a true Seeker, Harry; that you are!" 

Harry expressed his most heartfelt thanks of appreciation toward his friends. The rest of his team was happy for him as well, but something about their spirits seemed lacking. Once the stands had emptied, Harry stood with his fellow teammates. 

"That was a good game, everyone," he told them, but they didn't seem too convinced. 

When they all remained silent, Harry prodded, "What's wrong?" 

Ron was the first to speak. "It's you, Harry... It's always been you. Without you, we would've been clobbered out there. I couldn't even block..." 

"Ron-" Harry tried to say. 

"No, he's right, Harry," Natalie agreed. "Look what I did... I dropped the Quaffle... How embarrassing..." 

A few other words of discontentment were mumbled among the Gryffindor team, but before Harry could speak, they had walked away, save for Ginny. She took a step closer to Harry and regarded him intently. 

"Harry," she began softly, "it's great having you back on the team and all... They- they're just new, you know? I mean, when I played Seeker last year in your place, I knew I'd never be able to compete with you..." 

"Compete with me?" Harry asked, aghast. "Is that what this is all about? Is that why they're so... I don't know... mad at me?" 

"They're not mad at you, Harry," Ginny explained. "It's just that, well, seeing how you fly so well... It's quite intimidating for anyone, even your own teammates." 

Harry nodded slowly, trying to let the words sink in, but they didn't want to settle. Hadn't they just won? Shouldn't they be happy? 

"Ginny," Harry whispered, "what am I supposed to do? I mean, they- they wouldn't want to be in my shoes... living my life? No... no, they wouldn't, not if they really knew me. I know Ron understands, at least." 

"I understand, too," Ginny replied earnestly, stepping closer to him. "I mean, I try to understand. I was there with you last year when... when everything happened at the Ministry. Harry, we care about you. We're your friends, and you should know that you're not alone." 

Harry sat down on the damp ground and placed his head in his hands. He rubbed his temples, trying to clear his head. He sighed. 

"I know, Ginny," he croaked. "And thank you. I guess... I guess I just haven't been doing such a great job as Captain as I should be... I've been rather... distracted." 

"What are you talking about?" Ginny asked, sitting down next to him. "You've been doing a great job as Captain. We've been practicing really hard ever since the school year started. As for distractions... well, is this a distraction?" 

She leaned into him and brought her lips to his, where she kissed him. Unlike the kiss Ginny had given him at the end of tryouts, this kiss was deeper and more passionate. Harry found himself bringing his hands to her cheeks and caressing her softly, and he leaned into that kiss more and more, giving into it, wanting to forget that the world around him even existed. After several long moments, they pulled away from each other just enough to be able to breathe. Harry was so close to Ginny that he could see the flecks of green and amber in her light brown eyes. He noticed every little freckle that decorated her eyelids and the areas underneath her beautiful eyes. He smiled and brought his hand to her vibrant red hair, stroking it gently. 

"That was... amazing," he breathed. 

Ginny smiled and giggled, shaking her head. 

"What's so funny?" Harry questioned, confused. 

"You are." 

"Why is that?" 

"I don't know," she admitted. "I guess... I guess this whole thing is just a bit funny. I mean, I'm sure you know how much I fancied you when I was a young girl, but then, I tried going out with so many different guys, but in the end, you know, I never felt settled." 

"Ginny," Harry smiled, "you hardly need to worry about settling. You're fifteen years old!" 

"I know, I know," she replied hastily. "It's not that. It's just that... well, you were my first crush, Harry, and here it is, years later, and you are still the one... I want." 

Harry blinked a couple of times, not sure he was really hearing this. His mind quickly raced back to the previous year when he had tried dating Cho Chang and how disconcerting it had been to have Cho cry at him over Cedric. He certainly didn't want to be placed in another awkward situation with a girl who was only interested in him because he was the Famous Harry Potter. 

"Are- are you certain, Ginny?" Harry hesitated. 

"Of course I am," she replied firmly, looking at him very sternly, much in the way her mother would have. When Weasley women had their mind made up about something, there was no changing it. 

"Okay, okay," Harry laughed, "but don't give me that look. It's rather scary, really." 

Ginny giggled. "You're something else, Harry Potter. To everyone else, you might be the Famous Boy Who Lived, but to me, well, you're just Harry, and I quite like you, Harry." 

"Well, that's a good place to start," Harry teased. "I wouldn't want you going out with me if you didn't like me." 

Ginny affectionately shoved him and then stood up. She glanced back at the castle, saying, "It's nearing dinnertime. Perhaps we ought to head back." 

"Yes," Harry nodded. "It would be of no surprise to you if I told you I was hungry, so I won't." 

Harry stood up and locked hands with Ginny, and together, they walked back to Hogwarts. 

"I'm hungry, too," she teased. 


	16. Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

After dinner that evening, Harry's spirits were still flying high, just as he had been on his Firebolt just hours prior during the Quidditch match. Soaring so high, all thoughts of what had happened a few weeks ago were erased from his mind. Not only had Gryffindor won the match, Ginny Weasley had kissed Harry again, but this time the kiss had been deeper, more meaningful, and Harry was beginning to wonder if he was falling in love. 

Harry spent the remainder of the evening hanging out in the Gryffindor Common Room with his friends and teammates, celebrating their victory. They played game after game of Exploding Snap and Wizards' Chess and filled themselves with loads of sugar. By the end of the evening, candy wrappers littered the entire area, and empty bottles of butterbeer were sprawled out across the floor, tables, and chairs. The room gradually quieted down as people retired for the night, and before long, Harry was left with only Ron, Hermione, and Ginny surrounding him. 

The fire was growing lower and ever dimmer in the grate, meaning that the fullness night was evading the world more and more. Ron yawned and stretched, eyeing the staircase to the dormitories wearily. 

"You ready for bed, mate?" he asked Harry. 

"Yeah, I suppose so," Harry reluctantly replied. The truth was that he wanted to celebrate through the night and continue to live as if he had not a care in the world, but as the saying goes: "Life is like a party, and parties weren't meant to last." 

Hermione then stood up and began walking toward the staircase, saying with evident exhaustion in her voice, "I'm off to bed, then. I'll see you all tomorrow. Good night..." 

Ginny remained silent and shifted her gaze from Harry to her brother, trying to give him a clue that she wanted to be alone with Harry. Ron didn't notice at first, but as Ginny fixed him with a long glare, he suddenly realized his folly and stood up and left them to themselves, mumbling an almost incoherent "good night" on the way to his room. 

"'Bout time," Ginny remarked impatiently. "You'd swear he'd been dropped on his head too many times as a baby." 

"Was he?" Harry asked, amused. 

Ginny giggled and shook her head, saying, "No, I don't think so, but anyway, at least we're finally, you know, alone..." 

"Yeah, that we are," Harry said dumbly. 

"Well?" she implored. 

"Well, what?" Harry regarded Ginny with confusion. 

"Aren't you supposed to give me a good night kiss, mmm?" she asked in mock sweetness. 

Harry blushed a dark crimsom. "Er... sure, yeah... I guess so," he replied, feeling embarrassed. How was he supposed to know what was on a girl's mind, after all? Why girls always seemed to merely expect him to understand what it was they were thinking without actually having to say it was still a mystery to Harry. 

He leaned forward and brushed his lips against hers, closing his eyes as he surrendered himself. Ginny returned the kiss with more vigor, and then Harry played off her kiss, and back and forth they went for some time until they finally broke apart, realizing that they would have to resume their normal breathing patterns again before the night was through. 

Harry gazed at Ginny in the very dim light, the soft, deep red from the dying embers reflecting off her fiery hair. Her eyes bore into his own from only a few inches away, and Harry found himself smiling all over again. He wanted to stay like this forever. 

Ginny suddenly blinked a couple of times, coming out of her daze, and whispered, "It's really late, Harry. We should probably go to bed before McGonagall or someone finds out." 

"Yeah," Harry agreed with an audible sigh, but he didn't want to move. 

Ginny reached for his hands and pulled him up from the couch, giggling softly. "C'mon, Sleepyhead. You'll have to still get up in the morning." 

"I know, I know..." 

Harry allowed Ginny to lead him across the room and to the staircase, where they knew they would have to part. With a couple of quickly uttered "good nights," Harry and Ginny went to their respective dorm rooms and settled into their beds. 

* * * * *

In another part of the castle, Remus Lupin had been sound asleep for hours by the time Harry had finally gone to bed. At two in the morning, no one ventured through the halls of Hogwarts, unless they were looking for trouble, but deep within his chambers, Lupin slept, and until now this night, his sleep had been dreamless... 

_Laughter. Bark-like laughter. He was nearly certain that he heard it. Opening his eyes, Lupin sat up with a start when he realized that he was no longer in the same bed he had fallen asleep in. Instead of his four-poster in the teachers' quarters at Hogwarts, Lupin now found himself sitting in a rickety, old bed in one of the guest rooms of Grimmauld Place. He had stayed in said room from time to time during Harry's fifth year, but why was he here now? _

Swinging his legs over the side of the bed and standing up, the floorboards creaked as if protesting that they had to support even the meagre weight of Lupin. He yawned and stretched, taking notice that the sun was up. He could smell eggs and bacon cooking in the kitchen, and his stomach growled fiercely, the werewolf inside informing him that he was indeed quite hungry. He reached for his robe and left the room. 

When he entered the kitchen, he thought for sure that he eyes were deceiving him. How could this be? 

"S-Sirius?" he croaked. 

Sirius, who had been working earnestly over the stove, turned around and beamed at his friend. 

"Moony!" he exclaimed. "Good morning! How are you this fine day?" 

Wondering if he should pinch himself, Lupin took a step closer to Sirius and extended a wary arm to touch him on the shoulder. When his fingers came in contact with a solid form, Lupin nearly lost control. Blinking back tears, his voice shaking, he stuttered, "Can... can this be true?" 

"Can what be true?" Sirius inquired, fixing Lupin with a penetrating glare of mock annoyance. "Do sit down, old boy, before you go and hurt yourself. Your last transformation was certainly a rough one, and ever since, you haven't been eating properly. Now, tuck in." 

Lupin glanced from Sirius to the plate in front of him and then back again at his friend as Sirius placed some food on Lupin's plate. Sirius took a seat as well and began to eat without another word. Lupin, however, was too shocked to touch his food. Sirius soon enough finished eating and was now regarding Lupin and his plate of food intently. 

"You going to eat that?" he asked, eyeing the food. 

"Er, no..." 

"Fine, fine, won't go wasting good food. Honestly, if Molly found out, Moony, she'd have my head-" 

"Sirius-" Lupin suddenly interjected. 

"Mmm?" Sirius moaned with a mouthful of egg. 

"Don't talk like that... please. It's just... well, quite disconcerting, I must admit, especially considering the fact that you're-" 

Lupin couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence. Saying it was make it too real indeed. 

"I'm- ?" 

Lupin looked at Sirius with extreme sadness in his eyes and tried to keep himself composed and calm as he said what he knew he had to say. "Padfoot, old friend, don't you remember? You- you fell through the veil? You're... gone." 

"Don't be silly, Moony," Sirius laughed. "I haven't gone anywhere. I'm right here." 

Sirius didn't seem to understand. He had no concept of being dead or gone or whatever it was that he truly happened to him that fateful night in the Department of Mysteries. Lupin's wary gaze stayed fixed on his dear friend as he finished the remainder of the food, and when Sirius had finished, he looked up at Lupin and smiled. 

"Oh," he said almost off-handedly. "There's been something I've been meaning to tell you. Let Harry know that just because I can't leave and see him, I'm still looking out for him. Can you tell him that for me, old friend?" 

"Yes, yes, of course," Lupin replied earnestly, nodding his affirmation. He wasn't sure if he should bother to ask this next part, but Lupin's heart was dying to know. "But when can we expect your visit?" 

Sirius's gaze faultered, and he glowered. Scowling at his surroundings, he muttered, "I'm still a prisoner, Remus. Seems I'll always be, eh? So, see, that's why I'm depending on you, my friend. Can I count on you?" 

Still a prisoner. Those words reverberated through Lupin's mind as he jolted awake, now finding himself in his bed at Hogwarts. Thick sweat was covering his brow, and wiping some of it away, his eyes darted frantically across and all about the dark room. There was no one else there. Or was there? 

Something about that dream had been both unsettling and settling at the same time. Was Sirius indeed still a prisoner somewhere beyond the clutches of all tangible reality? Lupin didn't want to believe it, but something inside told him that Sirius had been trying to reach him this night with in the depths of his dreams. Was Sirius drifting amidst an ethereal world of dreams now, forever forced to speak through the subconsciousness of others? Lupin knew not the answers to any of these questions, but he did know one thing: Sirius was counting on him now to tell Harry that he was still there for him. 

Lupin somehow managed to fall back asleep for the remainder of the night, and when morning dawned, he was up with the sun. He quickly showered and dressed and headed to the Great Hall for breakfast. On a Sunday morning, especially at such an early hour, the Great Hall was nearly empty. When he took his seat at the staff table, he noticed that the only other person there was Snape. The Potions Master didn't even acknowledge Lupin's presence, but he simply sat there, idly drinking his tea. 

Lupin was a few chairs down from Snape, and he decided to go against his better judgment and wish the bitter man a good morning. 

"Indeed," Snape muttered, grimacing as if the flavor of the tea had suddenly gone bad. 

Lupin eyed Snape curiously, asking innocently enough, "Is there a special reason for your cheery attitude this morning, Severus, or is this just your usual demeanor?" 

"I had no idea you were practicing to be a comedian, Lupin," Snape sneered. "I believe I would rather spend my morning with the cauldrons for company. If you'll excuse me-" 

Snape stood up to leave, but Lupin stood up at the same time. "Please, Severus, don't be so quick to leave. I apologize if I've offended you, but could you please spare me a moment of your no doubt valuable time?" 

Snape's dark eyes travelled the length of his peer up and down with distrust, but he eventually resumed his seat and muttered, "What is it?" 

"It's Harry," Lupin said openly. 

"What at him?" 

"Well, I must admit that I haven't exactly been keeping as close an eye on the boy as I probably should be, but I was just wondering if you had noticed anything regarding him. I've spoken with him a couple of times since the start of the school year, but he seems like he's not really moving on. I'm concerned." 

Lupin wondered if he should dare tell Snape about his dream involving Sirius the previous night and the apparent message it held, but he decided against it. He wasn't even sure why he was discussing Harry with Snape of all people, but Lupin had also noticed some changes in Snape's behavior the past few months, even though the Potions Master would probably deny such a fact at all costs. 

Snape sighed and rubbed his temples as though he felt a headache coming on. The topic of Harry Potter never seemed to want to leave him in peace, and as much as he tried to deny Harry, he knew full well that he had no choice but to face the Boy Who Lived. 

"Mr. Potter has been... different," he said with a few carefully selected words. "He seems very withdrawn, and a couple of weeks ago, I even found the boy insanely running across the grounds, exclaiming how he was a threat to the whole wizarding world. I firmly told him to return to the castle, but his behavior was unnerving. However, I believe that with the turnout of yesterday's game, Potter will no doubt have his head in the clouds for some time to come. It seems that Quidditch is some kind of cure-all for the boy, but he is foolish if he thinks he can escape from his responsibilities." 

Lupin wasn't sure if he wanted to smack Snape for his remarks or actually thank him for telling him more than just "It's none of your bloody business." He did, however, glare at the Head of Slytherin and spat, "Responsibilities? Are you to tell me that you don't think Harry knows damn well that he has more on his shoulders than any boy his age - or anyone any age - should? It may be easy enough for you to sit there and gloat, Snape, thinking yourself superior because you are his professor and exercise some sort of command over him, but have you any inclination just what kind of command Harry's very existence has over all over us?" 

Snape felt Lupin's words hit him one by one, each like a wound to the heart that was already bleeding. "You fool!" he barked. "I know all too well what Harry's existence means! Why do you think I've been trying to keep the boy in line all these years?!" 

Lupin's mouth hung open. Had Snape just used Harry's first name? 

"Severus-" he tried to say. 

"Enough!" Snape bellowed. 

"No!" Lupin protested. "For once, I'm not going to just sit here and let you walk away." 

"Watch me," Snape growled, turning to leave. 

"Severus, please... wait," Lupin practically begged. "I said I was sorry. Are you so ashamed that you actually care about Harry that you can't even face me? What threat do I pose?" 

Snape stopped, sighed, and dropped into the nearest chair. In a very edgy and tired voice, he replied, "Lupin, I... I cannot allow such foolish things as feelings get in the way. I have a job to do in this whole war, and as such, I need to be able to think clearly. Every mention of Potter has the potential to drive me mad. Until very recently, he has never heeded anything I have told him, and all this while, I have been sacrificing practically everything for a selfish boy who would rather be the Quidditch star like his pompous father, all the while knowing that I, like everyone else, depend on this boy, _this boy_, for my salvation from the Dark Lord... and for me, my own redemption as well. He foolishly says the Dark Lord's name as if it were nothing, yet he has no idea the fear that very name instills in my heart. You don't know what it's like to..." 

_To be so ashamed of yourself?_ Snape thought. He wouldn't dare voice those words, though, for he had a very bad feeling that he had already gone too far. 

"Severus," Lupin sighed, sitting down next to him, "I- I had no idea, but Harry is not his father, and you know that. James never had to carry the burden of the fate of the wizarding world upon his shoulders. I, for one, don't think Harry should have to bear that burden alone." 

"We all have our own burdens to bear, Lupin," Snape said softly. "Har... Potter's is just much larger than anyone's, and if I could, I would gladly relieve him of it, but he would never believe me if I told him... and I probably will never tell him." 

"Why not tell him?" 

"It's hardly my place," he muttered. "You're what's left of his father's friends, Lupin. Maybe you ought to play the role of godfather and actually fulfill it... unlike Black." 

"That's not fair, and you know it," Lupin said between clenched teeth. 

"Our roles never are." 

"That's not what I meant. Don't you _dare_ go about insulting Sirius, especially in front of me or Harry. For heaven's sake, Severus, he is gone now. Out of respect for the dead at least, can you finally lay your preconceived notions about him aside after all these long years?" 

"I've laid aside far too much already, I'm afraid," Snape remarked in a guarded tone, referring to the fact that he had opened up to Lupin just moments prior. "I think this conversation is over." 

Snape stood up from the chair and left Lupin to himself and his thoughts. Now there was Harry to face. 


	17. Chapter Seventeen

Author's Note: I now have artwork for my story! Go to my website at to see illustrations to chapters 2, 3, 5, 6, & 7 and title page artwork, by my good friend Deb. Thanks, Deb! :) 

Chapter Seventeen

Lupin left the Great Hall that Sunday morning after having had a rather revealing and unexpected conversation with Snape. Shaking his head as he walked back to his rooms, Lupin sighed deeply, for he was certainly shocked that Snape had opened up as much as he had. He thought back to the time three years ago when he had taught at Hogwarts and how untrusting Snape had been of him, and despite any amount of civility and politeness Lupin had tried to treat Snape with, it had not make one shred of difference. Lately, though, the Potions Master seemed out of sorts, and although Lupin had his own hidden suspicions as to why Snape was acting differently, he knew better than to voice them, especially to Snape... usually. 

Opening the door to his room, Lupin took in his surroundings. The pale morning sunlight was coming in through the window where he had parted the curtains earlier, bleaching the already faded colors of the plain, simple furnishings even more. Lupin slumped over to one of the armchairs and flopped down into its welcoming cushions. Reaching for a flask of brandy, he poured himself a glass and aimlessly swirled the liquid around, watching it in a daze, nearly losing himself in a trance. 

He just could not for the life of him stop thinking about that dream. So strange it was indeed, but not so strange, really. After all, Sirius and Lupin had known each other for most of their lives, and if any living person still had any connections to the late Sirius Black, it was Remus Lupin... but what about Harry? What about Harry, indeed? Taking a gulp of brandy, Lupin frowned at the glass in consternation, almost as if he was accusing the alcohol of not having the effect he wanted it to. Plastering himself stupid was not going to solve anything, though, Lupin reckoned. 

He quickly downed the rest of the rather horrible-tasting brandy and hastily placed the empty glass on the table, figuring that the house elves would just as soon come by that morning to clean it up. He knew what he had to do, but doing it was another matter entirely. Why was he so damned afraid, anyway? He had talked to Harry from time to time already, and he liked the boy quite well. He knew Harry was quite fond of him, but who was he to come in and try to fulfill a role in Harry's life that Sirius had been given by James Potter himself? Lupin frowned, knowing that if James had wanted him to be Harry's godfather, he would have appointed him so, but that was not the case. Sirius and James had been practically inseparable during their tenure at Hogwarts. It was the Potter family that Sirius had moved in with. It was Sirius who James had chosen as his Secret Keeper. Among other things from memory, Lupin knew that he simply couldn't compare. 

_How can I be anything even close to what James or Sirius was to Harry? Every month I'm cursed to turn into a monster. What if I hurt him? What if I'm not able to be there for him when I'm under the curse?_

Doubt upon doubt flooded Lupin's wary mind, leaving him no room for peace. Standing up, he stalked off for the door and left the room. It was time to talk to Harry. 

Lupin made his way up to Gryffindor Tower. After he had given the password to the Fat Lady ("lionheart"), he entered through the portal and scanned the common room for any sign of Harry. The room was empty, save for Hermione, who was sitting in one of the crimson armchairs near the fireplace, her face buried in an over-sized book. Clearing his throat, Lupin approached the girl. 

Hermione started for a second, not realizing who was coming nearer to her, but when she realized that it was only Lupin, she smiled and greeted him, "Good morning, Professor Lupin. What brings you to Gryffindor Tower so early?" 

"Good morning, Hermione," Lupin replied, smiling gently. "I was up early and already had breakfast. I was hoping to talk with Harry." 

"Oh," she nodded. "Well, good luck with that." She shook her head, continuing, "He was up quite late last night, I'm afraid. After the victory over Slytherin, the whole team and most of the house couldn't hush up. I think he was the last one off to bed if I'm not mistaken. You'd think that after six years at Hogwarts that he'd pay a bit more attention to his studies..." 

Lupin stifled a laugh. "Ah, my dear, I fear to say that Harry is far from the studious pupil you are, but he does well enough. You must admit, though, that was some game, wasn't it?" 

"Yeah, some game," Hermione echoed, rolling her eyes at the thought of Quidditch. "Harry caught the Snitch as usual, though I don't think the rest of his team was too thrilled." 

"They'll get the hang of it," Lupin reassured. "It's mostly new players this year, anyway. So, Hermione, how are things going with you?" 

Relieved by the change of subject, Hermione smiled. "I'm okay," she shrugged. "You know, I've been reading this really interesting theory on..." 

Lupin patiently listened as Hermione explained such and such a theory on Arithmancy, apparently one of her favorite subjects. He wasn't sure how long he had been listening to her when Harry came down the steps and walked into the common room. 

Upon seeing Lupin sitting there, Harry's face lit up, although he was a little perplexed as well. "Remus!" he exclaimed. "What're you doing here?" 

Hermione stopped in mid-sentence and looked up from her book. She wished Harry a good morning, and Lupin stood up and greeted Harry earnestly. 

"Good morning, Harry," he said. "Sleep well last night?" 

"Yeah, okay," Harry mumbled. "Why?" 

Lupin bit back the urge to spill everything about his dream. He didn't want to go telling Harry everything that was on his confused and wary mind in front of Hermione or anyone else, so Lupin just politely smiled and replied, "No reason, really. Actually, Harry, the reason I'm here is because I was wondering if I could talk with you." 

Harry glanced over at Hermione, who shrugged her shoulders listlessly, and then looked at Lupin. "Er, of course, but can I grab some breakfast first? I'm starved." 

"How about breakfast in my office?" Lupin suggested. 

"Okay," Harry replied slowly, beginning to wonder just what Lupin was up to. 

"Wonderful," Lupin quipped. 

They wished Hermione a good day and left through the portal and strolled through the hallways and down some moving staircases until at last they arrived at Lupin's office. During the walk, Harry had kept sending questioning looks in Lupin's direction, but if Lupin had noticed them, he hadn't said so. By the time they were seated at Lupin's desk, and Harry had a plate of steaming hot waffles in front of him, Harry's curiosity had finally gotten the best of him. He couldn't wait a moment longer. 

"What was so important that you wanted to talk to me?" Harry asked. 

Lupin took a deep breath. 

_It's now or never, Lupin, old boy._

He regarded Harry intently as the boy ate. "Harry," he began firmly, "I had a dream last night." 

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that, so he just kept his eyes on Lupin's face and stared blankly. Picking up his knife and fork, he slowly worked at his plate of waffles. 

Clearing his throat in the awkward silence, Lupin continued, "So, anyway, let me get to the point. I had a dream about Sirius, Harry. I would swear to you that it was so real, for it felt like Sirius was alive again and standing right in front of me. I even reached out and physically touched him in the dream, but he seemed to have no recollection of having... died. He did ask me to tell you that just because he was still a prisoner and couldn't leave wherever he was trapped, he was... is... stilling looking out for you, and he told me that he was... well, he was depending on me." 

Lupin shifted uncomfortably in his chair as his words sank into Harry's mind. Placing his utensils down on the plate, Harry stopped chewing and slowly swallowed. His young face was emotionless for a moment, but then it seemed as if emotion just came rushing onto his features. His eyes began to water, and he shook uncontrollably. 

"Harry!" Lupin exclaimed, leaving his seat and rushing toward the boy. 

Harry felt Lupin's hand on his arm, but all this did was add fuel to the fire. He found himself breaking down in much the same manner that he had back in the summer when Lupin had come to visit him in the middle of the night at the Dursleys'. Lupin knelt in front of Harry's chair and felt his own heart breaking. Making Harry cry like this was the last thing Lupin wanted to do. 

"Harry," he repeated gently. "It's okay to cry, you know. I- I do understand what you're going through, at least partly." 

Harry coughed and used his robe's sleeve to wipe his eyes after having removed his glasses. The areas around them were all puffy and red. The unbespeckled face of Harry Potter looked back at Lupin, his eyes narrowed and small as he tried to focus without the aid of his glasses. It seemed that in his outburst of emotions that his hair had become even more unruly, and the boy sitting in front of Lupin looked all of about ten years old right now. He certainly didn't appear sixteen. 

"First it was my father," Harry finally croaked, "and then it was Sirius. Remus, I- I know you've been trying to be like a father to me ever since... ever since Sirius died, but I'm afraid, you know? I mean, I know this all sounds ridiculous, but what if you get too close to me and wind up meeting the same fate as them? I don't know what I'd do if I lost you, too... Sometimes when it's really late at night, and everyone else is asleep, I lie awake and think about how much my very presence endangers everyone else's lives. People I care about have died, Remus. Just weeks ago, in fact, Voldemort possessed me right in front of my friends, and he nearly had me attacking Ron. Luckily, I was able to block him out, but all I could think about at that moment in time was getting as far away from everyone as possible." 

"So that's when you went running out of the castle, claiming what a menace you were to everyone?" Lupin asked, realizing what Snape had told him earlier. 

Harry merely nodded and then whispered, "How'd you know?" 

"Severus told me," he said simply. 

"Oh, great," Harry mumbled, scowling. "Like I don't already feel bad enough. Yeah, of all the people... I practically ran into Snape while running across the grounds. I swear, wherever I go, there he is... always managing to make me feel guilty or... something." 

Lupin sighed. "I don't think that was his intention, Harry, but getting back to the point at hand... Harry, I don't know what the future will bring. I have to be honest with you on that, at least. This is a war we're fighting, after all, and people do and will continue to be killed on both sides. I'm afraid that the cost is always too high in instances such as these, but, Harry, I will try to be there for you if you need me. I'm no Sirius or James. In fact, I think I'd be a rather lousy parent." 

"No, you wouldn't," Harry gently argued. 

Lupin's soft eyes met Harry's, and he half-smiled. "Ah, a werewolf for a parent, eh? Now, that's a rich one, Harry." 

"You can't help who you are," Harry replied firmly. 

"And neither can you, Harry," Lupin said matter-of-factly. "We've been over this before, you realize." 

Harry laughed weakly, shaking his head and replacing his glasses. "Yeah, I know... I guess it just proves that the same problems tend to stay with us." 

"Only too true," Lupin agreed. 

The atmosphere seemed to have lightened, and Harry managed to finish his breakfast. After he was done, he smiled at Lupin. 

"Thank you, Remus," he began. "You don't know what you've given me." 

Lupin sent a questioning glance in Harry's direction. "But I've done nothing..." 

"Yes, you have," Harry countered. "Trust me." 

Standing up, Harry placed his hand upon Lupin's momentary and then turned for the door. He stopped briefly in the doorway and said, "So I guess I'll see you later?" 

"Of course." 

"Good day, then, Remus." 

"Good day, Harry," Lupin replied, watching as Harry's form turned and left. 

* * * * *

Days passed, extending into weeks, and soon December had come. Snow covered the grounds of Hogwarts, and decorations adorned the castle. Several large pinetrees lined the walls in the Great Hall, many of which had been decorated by Professor Flitwick. The ceiling in the Great Hall was enchanted to make it seem like snowflakes were lazily falling from the sky, and overall, the attitude among the students and staff was full of the cheer of the season. As Christmas approached, most of the students packed their things to return home to spend the holidays with their families. As was usual, Harry, Ron, and Hermione remained at Hogwarts during the holidays. 

It was now the first day of holidays, and during dinner, the trio sat at a mostly empty Gryffindor table. Ginny had joined them, but other than them, only a random first year and third year student were sitting at the table, both looking rather uncomfortable. Over at the Ravenclaw table, Luna Lovegood was sitting alone, and when the Gryffindors noticed this, they invited her to join them. 

"Are you sure it's okay?" she asked, her eyes even larger than usual. 

"Who cares?" Ron exclaimed. "It's not like we don't have the room." 

"Well, okay," she replied a little warily. 

Luna sat down with her friends and quietly ate. Harry realized that he hadn't seen much of her this year, and then realization struck him that perhaps part of that reason was due to the fact that he hadn't been holding any Dumbledore's Army meetings. Truthfully, Harry had not really given it much thought. His mind had been elsewhere most of the semester. 

"You know," Harry suddenly said quite loudly, "I was just thinking. Maybe we ought to start holding regular DA meetings again." 

Hermione's eyes immediately lit up. She had helped Harry organize and plan the meetings last year. 

"That's a great idea, Harry," Hermione instantly agreed. 

Both Ron and Ginny nodded, but Luna seemed rather aloof. 

"All right, Luna?" Harry asked. 

"Huh?" the girl asked quietly, looking in Harry's general direction, but more or less looking past him. 

"D'you want to have the DA meetings again?" he repeated. 

"Yeah, sure," she muttered. 

"Er, Luna," Ron began awkwardly. "Is everything okay?" 

Luna blinked a couple of times, and her large, pale blue eyes seemed to be tearing over. She sniffed and shook her head. "My- my father is..." 

"Yes?" Ginny prodded gently. 

"Dead," Luna whispered. 

"What?!" the others exclaimed in shock. 

"What happened?" Hermione hastily asked. "Is that why you didn't return home for the holidays?" 

"He was found dead in our home a week ago," she said shakily. "The article that he published in his newspaper last year about you, Harry... well, it was found stuffed in his mouth." 

The girls both gasped and covered their mouths. Ron looked like he was going to be sick. Harry swallowed nervously and finally managed, "Any idea who did it?" 

"Some of the Ministry suspects Death Eaters," Luna whispered. "There were reports of the Dark Mark left above the house." 

"Doesn't anyone else think it strange that none of this was reported in the _Daily Prophet_?" Hermione asked suspiciously. "Something tells me that the Ministry is still hiding something." 

"But Fudge saw what happened at the Ministry earlier this year," Ron argued. "Surely he's got to believe that You-Know-Who has returned to power. How daft can he be?!" 

"But he hasn't done a damn thing to ensure the safety of the wizarding world," Harry said quietly. "Dumbledore said so at the most recent Order meeting, and that was just a couple of weeks ago. Dumbledore's been saying that every meeting ever since I officially joined the Order back in July." 

"Strange indeed," Hermione muttered. 

"Well, whoever it was," Luna croaked, "they obviously weren't too happy with my father for publishing the truth about what Harry had seen when You-Know-Who came back to power." 

The others nodded, knowing all too well that this was the cruel and horrible work of Death Eaters under Voldemort's command. Harry felt like running to Dumbledore that instant and telling him, but when he looked at Luna and asked if she had told Dumbledore, she nodded and replied, "But even he admitted that there wasn't much he could do. The damange had already been done." 

Ron eyed his friends sullenly and muttered, "Happy Christmas, everyone." 


	18. Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Eighteen

Christmas Day had arrived. The snow was falling gracefully outside in a wintry ballet of wonder, and everything was calm and quiet all around. Upon opening his eyes that blissful morning, Harry's focus came to rest on the window, where he intently watched the snowflakes as they fell. Lying there in his bed, he found it hard to believe that there was so much unrest in the world around him and within himself as well. On the surface, everything seemed perfect, perhaps too perfect. 

Sighing, Harry reached for his glasses on the nightstand next to his four-poster bed. He sat up and pushed the crimsom covers away and slid his bare feet into his slippers that were resting near the bed. He glanced over at Ron and noticed that his friend was still asleep and noticed a pile of presents at the foot of Ron's bed as well. Harry smiled and walked to the foot of his own bed and came across a similar pile of presents. He bit back the urge to open them and decided to wait for his friends. 

As Harry thought about his friends, his mind came to Luna, and sadness immediately surfaced. The poor girl was only fifteen years old and was now an orphan, but if anyone could understand that feeling, it was Harry, although he had not had the chance to know his parents like she had. At least that was something. He would make it a point to talk to her before the day was through. 

Harry descended the stairs and came to an empty, brisk common room. The silence was penetrating, and Harry found himself drawn back to happier days when sounds of laughter and happiness filled the air at Christmas. He thought of all his Christmases at Hogwarts and how they had always been worlds better than any Christmases spent with those insufferable Dursleys, and of course there was last year's Christmas, which was spent with his friends at Sirius's place. 

Harry smiled sadly, recalling how happy his godfather had been during that time. It seemed like Sirius hadn't wanted the holidays to ever end, for that would have meant being confined to an empty and foreboding house once again with only his horrid mother's portrait and that vile house-elf Kreacher for company (if you could call them that). Finding himself walking toward the door to leave, Harry quietly sang his own version of "God Rest Ye Merry Hippogriffs" and laughed in spite of his sadness. Grieving was a strange thing, but it seemed all right to laugh now. Being happy through the sadness was sometimes for the best, and as Harry made his way down the corridor, he realized that Sirius would have wanted him to be happy, in spite of everything. 

Oddly enough, Harry wasn't very hungry, and he knew that there would be a Christmas feast in the Great Hall anyway around noon. Since it was already late morning, he figured he could simply wait. Harry merely went wherever his two feet took him. 

He found himself standing now in the entrance hall. Staring at the doors to the outside, Harry knew it would be plain foolish to venture outside in only his pajamas and slippers. He wondered if anyone would say anything if they found him wandering the halls dressed like this, but he didn't care. It was Christmas, after all. Suddenly, the heavy oaken doors swung open, revealing a darkly-clad figure. The man's breath could be seen in the cold air that briefly blew into the castle, but with a swift movement, the doors were just as soon closed. 

The man looked up and released a rather irritated sigh. Apparently, he hadn't been expecting an audience, but then again, neither had Harry. 

Harry was the first to speak. "Professor, were you out for a morning stroll?" he questioned innocently enough. 

"I have no time for your snide remarks, Potter," Snape muttered, intent on walking away from Harry in another direction. 

Harry noticed that Snape's voice was worn and ragged, and as he began to move, he was not holding himself in his usual manner. His shoulders were slumped, and his head was facing the ground. He seemed... drained. 

Perhaps against his better judgment, Harry nervously took a step in the professor's direction and tentatively asked, "Sir, are- are you all right?" 

Snape thought his ears to be deceiving him. Had Harry just asked him if he was all right? Stranger things were known to happen, but this? As exhausted as he was, the tiredness only fueled Snape's agitation. 

Wheeling around and fixing Harry with as menacing a glare as he could possibly muster at the moment, Snape snapped, "Do I look all right to you, Potter?" 

Harry stepped back and felt his breath caught in his throat. _I shouldn't have asked..._ He glared at Snape harshly and barked, "Of course you don't. I was just-" 

"Just what?" Snape practically snarled. "Is this your idea of a good time, hmmm? Is this what you do on holiday for amusement? I've said it before, and I'll say it again, Potter. How very much like your arrogant father you are, and I daresay, if you're not careful, you may wind up even more like him: dead." 

It took every last bit of Harry's willpower for him to resist biting back. He knew that Snape was simply baiting him, and for once, he wasn't going to fall prey to the man's games. Swallowing his pride, Harry faced Snape squarely and remembered Lupin's words: Snape was just a man. 

Taking a deep breath, Harry said evenly, "Sir, please hear me out. Contrary to what you think, I'm not trying to 'have a good time' or 'seek amusement' or whatever it is that you're so inclined to think. You looked - look - tired, and I just wondered if you were okay because I was... well, I was worried." 

Harry rushed through the last words, feeling a bit embarrassed, and looked down at his slipper-clad feet. Snape, on the other hand, was eyeing Harry suspiciously, not entirely sure what to make of the boy's words. Was it truly possible that Harry was concerned enough to be worried about the likes of him? Snape wanted to deny it all, for deep inside, he felt undeserving of any kind of concern for his own wellbeing. It was much easier to build the walls high and thick around himself and hide away from the rest of the world than to be at the mercy of openness and feelings. 

Finally, after a rather long silence, Snape replied quietly, "In that case, then, Mr. Potter, no... I am not all right. There was a meeting last night-" 

"A Death Eater meeting?" Harry asked, looking up at Snape, unable to help himself from interrupting. 

"Yes," Snape replied, irritated at being cut off. "Miss Lovegood's father was their latest victim, I'm afraid." 

"I know," Harry murmured softly. "I found out a couple of days ago from Luna." 

"I see," Snape said carefully. "It goes without saying that he won't be the last victim..." 

Harry shuddered and found himself asking the inevitable question. "How many more- ?" 

Snape looked away, fixing his eyes on really nothing at all. He then closed his eyes as if in pain and released a heavy sigh. "I don't know," he nearly whispered. "Who can say?" 

Watching Snape standing there so vulnerable, Harry felt a pang of guilt tugging at his heart. He was probably seeing this man for who he really was for the first time, and it was almost unbearable. Every nasty remark Snape had ever thrown at Harry, every unfair detention he had received, every house point he had lost as a result of the Potion Master's bidding didn't matter one bit. 

"How can you stand it?" Harry questioned, feeling very afraid, earlier happiness completely obliterated. 

Another sigh. "I just have to," the older wizard answered simply. "What other choice do I have? What other choice do any of us have for that matter?" 

"Then I am sorry," Harry said sincerely. 

Shocked, Snape fixed his eyes directly on Harry's face. "What for?" 

"That you have to, you know, put up with so much." 

"My choices have been my own, Mr. Potter," Snape replied, a bit more guarded. 

Before Harry could answer, Snape walked away. 

* * * * *

Snape grimaced as he muttered the password to Dumbledore's office ("peppermint sticks"). _Why must the Headmaster always choose some sort of sweet?_ he thought sourly, shaking his head in annoyance. As he thought this, the stairway rose from the ground level and stopped once it was in front of the Headmaster's door. Knocking on the door, Snape awaited Dumbledore's unmistakably cheery greeting. 

It came. 

"Ah, Severus," the aged wizard said upon opening the door. "Happy Christmas to you, my boy." 

"Can we please skip the holiday cheer and get to business?" the Potions Master muttered, slumping into a chair. 

"Of course," the Headmaster replied in a somewhat concerned tone. 

"Another meeting was called last night," Snape began, his eyes focusing on the floor. "I just now returned..." 

"And?" 

"And it's no surprise," Snape mumbled, clearly annoyed. "More killings are to be expected. A student and a student's father, as you already know, Headmaster, have been taken." He sighed and continued, "Sometimes I wonder how much of a help I am in this whole bloody mess." 

Bringing his pale, long-fingered hands to each side of his head, Snape held his head as if its weight were too much to bear. In this position, his dark eyes were fixed directly on the floor, gazing at the buckles on his dirtied boots. As was trademark, his long hair hung limply in his face, so Dumbledore couldn't even see the strain that was etched across much of the younger man's features. If judging by his outer appearance and composure was anything to go by, Snape's insides were an absolute, utter wreck. He felt torn and ragged on the edges to the point of feeling like his very existence was hanging from a solitary brittle thread, ready to fall and shatter into millions of pieces upon the merciless ground. Oh, how over the years he had tried, oftentimes feeling it all to be in vain, to patch up his shredded soul and hope for some sort of finished product that might even remotely resemble a whole person, but as he sat here at a loss for words and beyond conscious thought and recognition, Snape knew with nary a doubt that his grasp on reality was slipping through his fingers. 

Suddenly, he snapped out of whatever trance had overtaken him, and Dumbledore was not in the least fazed when Snape brought his clenched fist slamming down on the surface of the coffee table. The vibrations from said motion caused one of the china cups to fall off the edge and break, but Dumbledore merely uttered a simple "Reparo" spell and replaced it to its original spot. In the midst of this, Snape leaned back into his armchair and released a sigh of frustration, glowering at the Headmaster for his seemingly calm air. 

"What?" Snape finally barked. 

"You never surprise me anymore, Severus," Dumbledore began, shaking his head. "How else do you expect me to react? If it's pity you want, then I'm afraid you've come to the wrong place, my boy." 

"Pity?" Snape echoed, eyeing the old man suspiciously. 

"Ah, yes... pity. What a sad, trifle thing indeed. I will not sit here and waste a moment of my time on pity, Severus," he explained sternly, using a tone that instilled a feeling of finality. "You see, the pattern is more often than not the same. You think yourself useless, but oh, you are mistaken, and damn it, Severus, you bloody well know the truth. _You are not useless._" 

"Then what," Snape spat, "pray, am I? I know my title: spy. What good am I at it, though? Merlin, Albus, how many times have I actually supplied you with useful information over the years? Kindly answer me that." 

"But you are wrong, my boy," Dumbledore replied quietly, remorse coating his tone. "It was you who alerted me all those many years ago of the Dark Lord's plans to attack the Potters, and if I'm not mistaken, that was the same night you redeemed yourself by joining forces with the Order." 

"But only too late," Snape mumbled bitterly. "Hell lot of good it did. By the time Hagrid arrived, they were already dead." 

"And Harry?" 

"What about him?" 

"He lived," Dumbledore said simply. 

Snape rolled his eyes. "Yes, yes, Headmaster. He all know that story by now. The boy-made-hero before he could even talk properly. The one who must save us all from You-Know-Who." 

"That is his role, yes, but you have yours as well. Don't forget that, Severus," Dumbledore said, gazing at Snape with his sparkling blue eyes. "I have a feeling that before this whole war is over that you will find hope in the unlikeliest of places." 

"Perhaps," Snape muttered, not really believing the Headmaster. He paused and gauged Dumbledore for a reaction, but when the old wizard continued to sit there silently, Snape sighed and asked, "Is that all, sir?" 

"Well, was there anything else new to report besides what you have already told me, Severus?" 

"No." 

"Very well, then." 

Dumbledore's gaze turned to a clock on the wall, and he noticed that it was nearing the time for the Christmas feast. He turned back to face Snape and smiled, inquiring, "Will you be there?" 

Snape didn't even have to ask where "there" was. He knew the tiresome tradition. He was basically expected to be there, or else he knew he would never hear the end of it from the Headmaster. 

"But of course, Albus," he replied sourly. "I wouldn't miss it," he added with a fresh dose of sarcasm. 

"Wonderful," Dumbledore quipped. 

"But afterwards I am going straight to my chambers and retiring for the day, Headmaster, and I do not want to be disturbed. Is that perfectly clear?" Snape snapped. 

"Crystal." 

* * * * *

Harry was back in Gryffindor Tower, sitting with his friends in the common room. They had already opened their presents, and like every prior year at Hogwarts, Harry had received a hand-knitted sweater from Mrs. Weasley. He had a collection of sweets and cakes from various people, and from Hermione he had received a book on professional Quidditch teams. They were all enjoying their presents and the company of each other around the blazing fire, but while Harry's joy was apparent, it was only on the surface. His morning encounter with Snape was still fresh on his mind. 

"D'you think we oughta head down to the Great Hall now?" Ron eventually asked. 

Hermione nodded, "Yes, it's nearly time for the feast." 

Harry followed his friends quietly out of the common room and toward the portal. Behind Ron and Hermione, he walked silently with Ginny by his side. She eyed him questioningly but didn't say anything. As they walked to the Great Hall, Harry noticed that his two best friends were holding hands. When had this happened? Harry smiled slightly, but then he realized that he probably had been missing out on a lot of things this year. His focus had obviously been elsewhere this past semester. 

They finally entered the Great Hall and took some seats around the table. There were a few more students present this year than in some of the previous years, but there couldn't have been more than twenty-five people seated at the one long table between the students and the professors. Harry noticed that all the Heads of House were there, Dumbledore, and Filch in his moldy frock coat, which Harry thought was probably the caretaker's attempt at dressing nicely for the occasion. Hagrid was there as well, but Lupin was absent, since the unfortunate man was currently in the middle of one of his transformations. 

The meal was splendid as usual, but while they ate, Harry couldn't help but to glance over at Luna. She was staring absently at her plate, barely touching the food. Harry wondered if he should have broken the rules (yet again) and invited Luna to join them in Gryffindor Tower for the opening of their presents, but it was too late for that now. 

There wasn't much talk during the meal, and Harry noticed that Snape was the first person to leave the table. It was a wonder that the dour man even attended the holiday feast each year, but Harry had the inclination that it was the doing of Dumbledore. After they had finished and politely excused themselves from the table, Harry and his friends found themselves standing in the hallway immediately outside of the Great Hall. 

"I think I'm gonna talk to Luna," he told them. "Don't wait up for me." 

"All right, mate," Ron replied. "See you later, then." 

"Are you sure you want to be alone, Harry?" Hermione asked, concerned. "Maybe we could all try to cheer her up." 

"I don't know if she would want too much company at once," Harry admitted. "I'll try to see if she will hang out with us later, but-" 

"It's okay, Harry," Ginny gently interrupted. "Just let us know if there's anything _you_ need, all right?" 

That said, Ginny eyed Harry much like her mother would. Harry nodded, and they left him alone. Harry waited a few minutes until Luna was done, even though she had barely touched her plate. As she walked out the doors, she was caught by surprise to be greeted by Harry. 

"Harry!" she gasped. "I'm sorry. I didn't see you there." 

"It's okay," Harry replied, trying to smile. "I, er... just wanted to see how you were doing." 

Luna sighed and studied the carvings on the moulding by the doorway. "About as well as can be expected, I guess," she finally mumbled. 

"Well, if there's anything, I mean, you know..." Harry nervously rubbed the back of his calf with his other foot. He felt awkward at trying to comfort his friend. 

"Thank you, Harry," Luna said sincerely, a small smile on her face. She briefly hugged him and walked away. 

Harry watched Luna's back as she walked away in the direction of the Ravenclaw wing. He knew that she probably just wanted to be left alone, but if anything were true for Harry right now, he didn't want to be alone. Not on Christmas Day. He returned to Gryffindor Tower, and when his friends all gave him curious looks, Harry simply said, "I think she just wants to be alone for now." 

They nodded slowly. Hermione turned back to reading a new book she had received, and Ginny studied a sewing kit her mother had sent her. Ron shrugged and finally asked, "D'you want to play Wizard's Chess, Harry?" 

"Sure," Harry agreed amiably. 

Harry sat down across from his friend and found himself lost in a game of Chess for the remainder of the afternoon. The winter sun set early, and dinner came and went. Evening dawned dark and dreary, and the castle halls were drafty and cold. Harry had had enough of playing games and found himself walking prepensely through the corridors, shivering as pockets of winter air came from places unknown. 

Some would call it foolish to wander the halls when no one else was around, but for Harry, it was a time when he could escape and just allow his thoughts to move freely through his mind. There was much weighing on his young heart that holiday, but even in the darkest tunnels, there was light. As Harry treaded along, his bright green eyes came to rest upon a man who seemed a paradox within himself. 

"Professor," Harry said quietly. 

The man didn't say a word, but he just stopped in his tracks and gazed at Harry intently, perhaps studying him, trying to better understand just what great power lay behind those glasses and unruly hair. Harry stared back in the same manner, trying to comprehend this dark yet good man's motives that lay behind his pale face and seemingly-endless black eyes. 

Harry's voice caught in his throat as he tried to say just four mere words, but then he heard some of his own words uttered in the other man's deep voice. 

"Happy Christmas, Harry Potter." 

His facial expression betrayed nothing, nor did his tone of voice have any sort of emotion, but Harry knew that it must have taken all this man's willpower to say such simple words, words that anyone else could have proclaimed so easily and carelessly, throwing them wildly and recklessly into the air for the mere sake of the season and what it was supposed to mean, but for this man, _this man_, to say them, that was a small victory for his soul. 

"Happy Christmas, Professor Snape." 


	19. Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Nineteen

January arrived cold and full of snow just as it had every year before, and before Harry knew it, students had returned to Hogwarts and classes had resumed. Dumbledore had informed him the last day of holidays that there would be another Order meeting on January 15, and so, January 15 had arrived, and Harry now found himself standing once again in Grimmauld Place. 

He had arrived early, having decided to come with Lupin. Althought the Floo Network at Hogwarts was not normally open to outside fireplaces, a temporary connection was made whenever there was an Order meeting, since there were a fair number of people who needed to travel from Hogwarts to Grimmauld Place. Lupin was casually walking the length of one of the hallways, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet, while Harry stood there, silently watching him. He was right next to the stairway that led upstairs, and as Harry suddenly felt the urge to use the loo, he excused himself, to which Lupin simply nodded. 

As Harry ascended the stairs, he heard Lupin's voice call after him, saying, "Don't be too long, Harry. The meeting will be starting promptly at eight." 

"All right," Harry called back. 

As he came to the second level, Harry's eyes had to adjust to the darkness before he could see. If he had been allowed to practice magic outside of school, he would have simply muttered "Lumos" and used his glowing wand to guide him, but he didn't think alerting the Ministry to the misuse of magic over something so trivial was worth risking losing his wand. Harry continued down the hallway until he came to the door that he knew led to the bathroom. He recalled staying in one of the many rooms in the large house the previous year, and so, Harry knew his way around well enough. 

After Harry had finished, he quietly closed the door behind him and stopped once he was in the hallway again. At the very end of the hallway, the end furthest from the stairway, Harry noticed a narrow door. He had never ventured to open said door on any previous occasion. He had thought it to be just a closet or a storage room, but now, for some unknown reason, Harry's curiosity was getting the best of him. He found himself quickly approaching the door, hoping to find out just what lay beyond it. 

Surely it wouldn't hurt just to peek? 

Harry tentatively reached for the doorknob, and once his hand came to rest on it, clutching it tightly, Harry froze in mid-action, not entirely sure if what he was doing was wise. He knew that the house had an attic, for Sirius had at once time mentioned it when he dismissed Kreacher as simply hiding out in it when the house elf's whereabouts were unknown. Harry had never actually seen the attic, and as he found himself turning the knob and opening the door, which creaked in protest, his eyes focused upon a narrow stairway that led up into darkness. 

If he were wiser, perhaps Harry would have turned around and left the attic alone, but he felt as if something inside of him were urging him on. He knew he had only a few minutes before the beginning of the Order meeting, and to be late would not be looked upon kindly, but Harry brought his left foot forward and placed it on the first step. Step by step, Harry went up the stairs until he came to the top, where he noticed a lone window, from which a small amount of starlight shone into the otherwise black and dreary room. 

Harry had been back to this house at least five times since Sirius had died, and although it still hurt to be reminded of the fact that Sirius had once lived within these very walls, Harry found himself seeking some sort of comfort here as well. He was walking where Sirius had walked, and now, perhaps being up in this dusty, forgotten attic, Harry could be discovering a place that Sirius might have perused many years ago. 

As his eyes adjusted, Harry noticed that there were several old pieces of furniture, mostly covered with sheets, lining the walls. A few trunks were placed here and there among the ancient tables and chairs, and Harry wondered just what he might find hidden within them. He took a few steps toward one, intent on opening it, when something shining off in the distance in the corner of his eye caught his attention. The small amount of starlight that was permitted into the room was reflecting off something in a corner. Harry turned to face it and noticed that whatever it was had been mostly covered by a large, moldy cloth. The light was reflecting off a shiny corner of the covered object, and yet again, Harry felt like he was being called over to explore further. 

Harry was now standing immediately in front of the covered object, which was flat and rectangular in shape and about three feet high and two feet wide. Removing the covering, Harry coughed as large amounts of dust particles were released into the air. When the air cleared, and he finished coughing, Harry's eyes rested upon a framed painting, but it was turned away, and so Harry couldn't see what or who the painting was. Part of his mind told him that it would be foolish to turn the painting around. What if it was another painting of that horrid Mrs. Black? The last thing Harry needed was to hear her ear-piercing, gut-wretching shrieks and screams. Taking a deep breath and swallowing slowly, Harry reached for the frame. He closed his eyes and turned it around. 

Opening his eyes, Harry found himself locked eye-to-eye with the person in the portrait. Harry's own large eyes were in fact mirrored by the portrait's own oversized ones. Harry wasn't sure if he should laugh or cry, for what he saw was simply unbelievable. Staring back at him with just as much shock was none other than Sirius Black. Taking a few calming breaths, Harry leaned toward the portrait and examined it closer. Harry could have sworn that the portrait Sirius's eyes had been larger upon first glance, but as he stared at his late godfather's face, he realized all too soon that Sirius was not moving. 

Studying his godfather's face for any sign of animation, Harry noticed that the portrait displayed a young version of Sirius, perhaps when he was only about Harry's age, but with chagrin coating his features, Harry frowned and looked down. He sat down on the floor in front of the portrait and gazed longingly into it. He had given up on finding a means to communicate with Sirius months ago, and just when he thought he had found a way when he least expected it, Harry was only left feeling alone and empty. He was too drained to cry any more tears over Sirius's death, for as time passed, that hollow feeling inside just seemed to have become a part of him. 

Sighing heavily, Harry knew that he was needed downstairs. Reaching toward Sirius's young, handsome face, Harry made to brush his hand across his godfather's cheek in a sad, affectionate gesture. When the face suddenly withdrew to one side of the painting and grinned at him, Harry flinched and drew back his hand. He would have probably screamed had his voice not disappeared somewhere within his throat. 

Bark-like laughter errupted from the portrait as Sirius said, "It's about time you found me, Harry! Gee, how long does a bloke have to wait, hmmm?" 

Now Harry thought himself either dreaming or going insane. Was this truly possible? He tried pinching himself, to which Sirius only laughed harder. 

"Really, Harry, I thought you'd have more to say to me after all these months," Sirius chided in mock hurt. 

"But you-" Harry sputtered. "You're... I mean, Sirius... How- how is it possible? I mean... is it really you?" 

Harry was awe-struck with disbelief. He had been dreaming of this day for so long, and now that it had come, he simply found himself at a loss for words or understanding. 

"C'mon, Harry," Sirius replied, shaking his head. "You're not that daft. You mean to tell me that the son of James Potter doesn't know that painted portraits are a means for the dead to communicate with the living? Surely you remember that old crone of a mother who hung in the hall... or what about my dear great-great (I think it was two greats) grandfather, ol' Phineas?" 

Harry nodded slowly, comprehension slowly dawning. Of course Harry knew that paintings could talk, but he had long ago given up hope of ever finding a portrait of Sirius. It was a small miracle that the Blacks hadn't destroyed every last picture of Sirius. After all, his name had been erased from the Family Tree that hung downstairs. Harry supposed that placing Sirius's portrait up in the attic in some cold, forgotten corner, left to face the wall and be covered (for good measure on their part, of course) was just as cruel. 

"Sirius," Harry finally managed, choking on his words, "I- I never thought I'd see you again." 

Harry wanted nothing more than to reach out and embrace his godfather at that very moment, but he knew that was impossible. Although he could talk to Sirius, he could do nothing more. 

"Harry," Sirius said evenly, sobering from his earlier mood, "I had nearly given up myself. See, as far as I know, this is the only painting of me that remains. My horrible parents had them all either burned or shredded. I'm surprised they didn't do the same to this one." 

Harry nodded, thinking the exact same thing. "It's wonderful to see you again, Sirius," Harry said, "but I'm afraid I have to go back downstairs. See, there's an Order meeting and-" 

But Harry was cut off by another voice. 

"Harry?" the voice called from somewhere near the stairway. It was Lupin. 

"Moony!" Sirius exclaimed without being able to help himself. 

Lupin started. Had he just heard his late friend's voice? He asked in a faint, trembling whisper, "Padfoot?" 

"Over here, you great wolf!" Sirius barked jovially. He seemed to enjoy teasing those who found him. 

Lupin warily approached Harry. The werewolf's eyes were more accustomed to the dark than that of a regular human, so Lupin quickly saw both Harry seated on the floor and the portrait of Sirius. 

"S- Sirius?" Lupin choked, tears prickling at his eyes. 

"Yes, Remus, it's me," Sirius said matter-of-factly. "How are you holding up, old friend?" 

Lupin took a seat next to Harry and stared at Sirius with his mouth gaping open. He slowly overcame his initial shock and remarked, "So you're the reason Harry is late to the meeting, Padfoot. Typical of you to cause trouble, whether you be alive or dead." 

Lupin smiled wryly, and Sirius returned the smile. Sitting there, Harry looked between the two friends and knew that his wish wasn't the only one that had been granted that memorable day. They exchanged words for a few more minutes, but then Lupin suddenly realized once again why he had been sent up here in the first place. 

"Harry," Lupin suddenly said, "we really must be getting back downstairs. I'm sorry, Padfoot," Lupin continued, looking apologetically at his friend. 

"But what about Sirius?" Harry questioned. "We can't just leave him up here!" 

"Then what would you suggest?" Lupin countered. 

"Why not bring Sirius downstairs to join the meeting? He's still a member of the Order, right?" 

Lupin looked from Harry to Sirius, who was grinning mischievously. 

"Harry does have a point, Moony," Sirius pointed out. "Besides, it's been a while since I've had the, er, dare I say, _pleasure_ of laughing at one of Snivellus's oh-so-important reports," he chuckled. 

Lupin rolled his eyes, and Harry tried to suppress a laugh. 

"Well," Lupin sighed, "I suppose..." 

"Oh, c'mon, my friend... I could use some company. What's a dead bloke gotta do? Surely you don't expect me to just spend another six months in the dark, do you?" 

"Of course not," Lupin frowned. "It's just that, well- " he hesitated, "well, won't people be a bit startled?" 

"So?" Sirius implored. 

"C'mon, Remus," Harry practically begged Lupin. "Everyone'll be glad to see Sirius again... well, mostly everyone," Harry added, trying to imagine the look on Snape's pale face upon seeing Sirius again. 

"All right, all right!" Lupin exclaimed. "I surrender!" he joked, waving his arms in the air. 

"Good," Harry and Sirius both replied simultaneously. 

Harry picked up the painting with the assistance of Lupin, and together, they transported the painted Sirius downstairs. They walked down a hallway and came to the door to the meeting room. Lupin pushed the door open with his foot, for both of his hands were being used to hold the painting, and as the door opened, Dumbledore stood up and gave both Lupin and Harry a questioning stare. 

"Remus, Harry, what is that meaning of this?" he demanded. "You both realize that you have delayed the meeting at least twenty minutes." 

"Yes, some of us only have so much time," McGonagall added tartly. "I'll have you know that I have a whole stack of essays to grade by tomorrow just waiting for me upon my return to Hogwarts this evening." 

Stepping into the room, Lupin and Harry both looked at the rest of the people, most of who appeared impatient or annoyed or both. 

"I can explain, Headmaster," Lupin began. "See, Harry was up in the attic and-" 

"The attic?!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed. "My dear child, what were you thinking, going up there? It could have been dangerous!" 

The matronly woman was standing up, but Mr. Weasley calmly reached for her arm and gently pulled her back to her chair. 

Sirius's face was not facing the direction of the room yet, but he could hear the commotion. He thought he would keep silent until Lupin and Harry had a chance to explain, but then he heard Snape's voice suddenly sneer, "Of course it's nothing new. Mr. Potter has made a habit of breaking rules, and now it appears that Lupin is assisting him. How thoughtful of you, Lupin," he remarked sarcastically." 

That pushed Sirius too far. "Turn me around!" he demanded. 

Several people with the room started upon hearing the foreign voice, not knowing where it was coming from. Even Snape appeared unnerved, but when Lupin and Harry obediently turned Sirius's portrait around to face the rest of the room, several gasps were heard. 

"I think your mouth must be just as big as your nose, Snivellus," Sirius yelled at Snape, who was now searing with rage upon seeing Sirius's face. 

Snape reached for his wand and approached the portrait very quickly. The others were left standing still in shock. Sirius furrowed his brow and fixed Snape with a glare of purest loathing. 

"What d'you intend to do, Snape?" Sirius baited him. "Hex me? I'm not a person anymore. Spells like that won't work on me." 

"Actually," Snape said smoothly, "I had rather thought a nice tear down the middle of your lovely painting might shut you up for good." 

"No!" Harry bellowed, standing in front of Sirius's portrait. Lupin stood next to Harry, his expression making it clear that he would not move. 

"He's defenseless!" Harry practically screamed at Snape. "How could you be so cruel as to even suggest such a thing?! I finally find a way to talk to my godfather after all these months, and just because the two of you can't get along, you feel the need to more or less end whatever last bit of life he has among the living?!" 

Dumbledore approached the scene and fixed them all with a stern gaze. "That will be quite enough," he said firmly. "Severus, sit down. We have a meeting to hold, in case any of you had forgotten. Remus, Harry... Sirius... we will discuss this after the meeting." 

Not another word was spoken on the subject as Snape resumed his seat, and Harry and Lupin took theirs on the other side of the room. Sirius kept silent, but when Snape gave his report, he bit back the urge to throw an insult or two at the man. 

Once the meeting had ended, Dumbledore wished everyone well on their way. Several people welcomed Sirius as they walked past his portrait, and before long, only Dumbledore, Snape, Lupin, Harry, and Sirius were left in the room. 

"First of all," Dumbledore began, "I would like to welcome you back, Sirius. It would be wonderful if you could be here during all the meetings." 

"Thank you, sir," Sirius replied. 

"Secondly," the old wizard continued, "while this is quite a find, Remus and Harry, that does not excuse your tardiness. I would hope that in the future you would both conduct yourselves better." 

They nodded and muttered, "Yes, sir." 

"And finally," Dumbledore concluded, sounding very worn out and annoyed as well, "on the grounds of appropriate conduct, that outburst earlier was completely unnecessary. We are here to discuss ways to help fight for what is right in this war, and I will not have petty arguments during these meetings. To be a part of the Order of the Phoenix is an honor, and I would hope that you would all take it as such. I have entrusted all of you with valuable information, and what is more, I have entrusted all of you with my friendship. To me, every member of the Order of not just my ally; he is my friend. As such, I believe you all to be worthy of my trust and to uphold the dignity to the positions to which you have been called in this war. If we cannot place side our differences among our own ranks, how can we ever expect to win when it comes time to face the enemy?" 

Dumbledore fixed them all with a penetrating, icy, blue-eyed gaze. There was no doubt in any man's mind upon looking at Albus Dumbledore when he was like this that he was indeed a very powerful wizard. 

The others nodded, feeling ashamed and embarrassed. 

"Good," the Headmaster said simply. His regularly sunny disposition suddenly returned, and he turned for the door. "Good night, then, gentlemen," he said and was gone. 

While Lupin and Harry reached for the portrait to move Sirius to a better place, Snape wasted no time in booking out the door as quickly as possible. He didn't look back. He knew he could have Flooed back to Hogwarts, but he had no desire to return there too quickly. He stepped outside into the cold air and pulled his black frock coat up higher until it covered most of his face. Stalking away from the house as quickly as he could in the snow, Snape finally stopped and disapparated. 

Back inside, Lupin and Harry both looked at Sirius sadly, knowing that they would have to leave soon. 

"Isn't there something we could do?" Harry practically begged Lupin. 

"Well," Lupin sighed, "we could place a shrinking charm on Sirius and transport him back to Hogwarts that way, and as for where to keep him-" 

"What about your private chambers, Moony?" Sirius asked hopefully. 

"I know what you're thinking, Padfoot," Lupin lectured his friend, "and no, I'm not going to place you on the wall inside my bedroom, not for you to simply tell me that I snore and am keeping you up all night. Perhaps my office, then?" 

Sirius considered this and agreed. 

Harry beamed. He finally had his godfather back... in a way, anyway. Lupin performed the necessary charm to shrink Sirius's portrait, and Lupin placed him inside his pocket and Flooed back to his office at Hogwarts. Harry followed suit. 

* * * * *

Meanwhile, a very sour Severus Snape was sitting in the Hogs Head in Hogsmeade, sulking over a bottle of Odgen's. He muttered under his breath and took another swig of the whiskey. It was all he could do at the moment to drown out the world around him. 


	20. Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty

Sirius's portrait was hung on the wall of Lupin's office that faced his desk head-on, and that night when Harry returned to Hogwarts after the Order meeting, he rushed to Gryffindor Tower anxiously to tell his friends what (or more like who) he had found. As he sat in one of the armchairs around a blazing fire, Harry recounted the story of discovering Sirius's portrait hidden in the attic of Grimmauld Place to Ron, Ginny, Neville, and Hermione. His friends all regarded him incredulously, for the news seemed almost too good to be true. 

"D'you mean to tell me, Harry, that you found Sirius... er, his picture?" Ron asked rather stupidly. 

"Yes, that's what I've just spent the past ten minutes telling you, isn't it?" Harry replied. "He's now in Lupin's office, and I swear it, if you were to go there tomorrow, you would see him." 

"Poor Sirius," Hermione remarked sadly, "left all alone in that horrible attic all that time. It's a good thing you found him, Harry, when you did." 

Harry nodded as Neville silently watched the others with large eyes, too shocked to really say anything. Neville had never known Sirius, but he had been there when he had fallen through the Veil, and Neville knew that Harry had lost someone very special to him in that awful moment in time. 

Ginny smiled at Harry and shook her head in disbelief. 

"Did he say anything about having met your parents on the other side?" she suddenly questioned. 

"Er... no," Harry said slowly, his brow arching in consternation. "I didn't ask him, although maybe-" 

"Do you really think that's a good idea?" Hermione interjected. "I mean, Harry, what if Sirius wasn't in contact with your parents? Don't you think he would have already said so if he had been? I don't know, but I have a bad feeling about this. You may just be setting yourself up for disappointment, Harry, if you ask Sirius and he tells you that he hadn't been able to reach them." 

Ron argued with disgust, "Oh, please, Hermione! Why wouldn't Sirius have been in contact with Harry's mum and dad? I mean, he did go into the afterlife, right?" 

"Hey, hey!" Harry exclaimed, suddenly standing up between his two friends. "Look, I don't know anymore than the next person what or who Sirius saw in that other realm, but when I ask him, I'll be prepared for whatever he has to tell me. It's not really for you to decide, is it?" he questioned, feeling hurt that his friends were arguing over one of his own issues. 

"I'm sorry, mate," Ron apologized. "It's just that I hope you do finally get to talk to you parents... somehow or another." 

"And, Harry," Hermione added, "you know I wish the same for you. I'm sorry if my over-analytical mind made it seem like I didn't believe it possible." 

Harry smiled ruefully and nodded, "Okay, guys... Thanks. I think it's best we all head to bed now, though. For me, at least, it's been a long day." 

Ron and Hermione wished him good night and retreated toward the stairs together, holding hands. Neville stepped forward and said, "I'm glad you were able to find your godfather again, Harry. From how you reacted last year, I know he's important to you." 

"Thanks, Neville," Harry replied with a smile. 

Neville turned and left, leaving Harry alone with Ginny. As the fire grew dimmer, the shadows increased around them, dancing across their young faces. In the growing darkness, Ginny reached for Harry's hand and pulled him closer to her, and then lips locked lips, and they kissed sweetly and with a longing that seemed beyond them in their youthful states. Finally, after what could have been forever or a mere second, they parted and went their separate ways. 

The next morning dawned rather bright for a winter day, with the sun full and bright and not a cloud in the sky. As Harry prepared for a day filled with classes and school work, he wanted nothing more than to be able to go to Lupin's office and visit Sirius. If he could, he would have chosen to stay there the whole day and probably for several days thereafter, for Harry felt like he had to make up for all the time he had lost while separated from Sirius. However, there was little time for any sort of visit, at least in the morning. 

After a quick breakfast, Harry and Ron went to Divination, where Professor Trelawney graced them with her oh-so-ever-elusive, pseudo-mystic presence. Today, she had her class working with Tarot cards, and it came as no surprise to Harry that the magnified-eyed professor predicted his death yet again. 

As Ron and Harry left Divination and headed from Transfiguration, Ron rolled his eyes and huffed, "You'd think that batty old fly would give it up after all these years. Honestly, how'd she ever get rehired here after last year?" 

"Good question," Hermione interjected, joining the duo, having overheard Ron's remarks about Trelawney. "Well, I still think you both would have found Arithmancy much more fulfilling. Plus, it's a real subject about predicting future events." 

Harry smiled and shook his head as they entered the Transfigurations classroom. Professor McGonagall entered the room shortly thereafter and announced the start of class. 

"Today," she began in her typical lecturing tone of voice, "we will be learning how to transform parts of our bodies, such as our hair color, eye color, the shape of our noses..." 

"Betcha Snape could use a transfigurated nose," Ron muttered to Harry, snickering. 

Harry stifled a laugh, only to receive a glare from McGonagall. She paused only briefly and then resumed, "Now, I want you to please repeat after me: _Corpus Mutatus_." 

"_Corpus Mutatus_," the whole classroom replied in unison. 

"Good," she remarked, nodding with affirmation. "Now, I caution you to be very careful when you perform this transfiguration. You may perform it either on yourself or on another, but it is easier to perform on another, as you are able to see them. It is highly recommended that you employ a mirror if you so choose to do the transfiguration on yourself. Now, pick up your wands and point them at your partner, picking a part of the body that you would like to transform. Focus and concentrate hard on what you would like to change about that particular feature. When you have it, utter the words _Corpus Mutatus_." 

Harry and Ron were each pointing their wands at each other. Harry's wand was on Ron's fiery red hair, and Ron's wand was on Harry's vibrant green eyes. Harry willed himself to picture Ron with bright blue hair, and just as he uttered the appropriate words, he heard Ron say them at the same time. For a split second, Harry felt a small jolt of energy hit his eyes. He blinked, and when he opened his eyes, he was looking upon a very strange-looking Ron Weasley. 

Harry found himself laughing, but Ron was laughing at Harry as well. 

"What's so funny?" Ron asked in between fits of laughter. 

"Your hair!" Harry exclaimed. 

Ron turned and faced a mirror at the front of the classroom and nearly fell over. His face turned very red as he suddenly flushed. 

"Well, you think you're so clever. Why don't you have a look in the mirror, mate?" 

Harry turned and nearly gasped. His irises were pink! 

"You are truly mad," Harry remarked with mock hurt. 

"Likewise," Ron replied, still laughing. 

Similar reactions were heard throughout the classroom, but before long, Professor McGonagall announced that they needed to all resume their natural forms again. Several _Finite Incatatums_ were uttered, and then she ended the class by assigning homework, much to the chagrin of every student except Hermione. 

They headed to lunch, which unfortunately wasn't very long that day. During lunch, Harry thought how wonderful it would be if he could simply skip his afternoon Potions class and visit Sirius instead, but he knew it would only result in detention, and luckily enough, Snape had not been giving Harry a hard time lately, although Harry wondered if that would change now that Sirius was back. 

It was with a heavy heart that Harry took his seat near the back of the Potions classroom in the dingy, dreary dungeons that early afternoon. Next to him, Hermione was busy organizing her notes for the start of class. Harry focused on his friend, hoping for a distraction, but that was short-lived when the door to the classroom opened with a resounding bang! 

Harry wasn't the only student who jumped upon hearing the sound. Even most of the Slytherins regarded the Potions Master warily at he stalked into the classroom. Harry had seen Snape in a foul mood on many occasions over the past five and a half years, but there was something very disturbing about the expression on his face. He almost looked inhuman. 

Snape didn't say a single word. He roughly picked up a piece of chalk and began to write on the board, his handwriting very forced and edgy. Before the list of ingredients was complete, several pieces of chalk had broken. By the time Snape was finished writing, he looked like he was about to burst into fury if the students didn't begin working immediately. 

Finally, he turned and faced them, glowering at them all with what Harry thought had to be utter loathing. Snape growled one word: "Begin." 

Harry didn't dare to question the man. Meanwhile, Snape swept through the classroom like a creature in the night hunting for its prey, looking for the smallest infraction to remove points. When he came across a student who wasn't performing to his standard, he simply stood there, looming relentlessly over them, breathing hot vapors down their necks, and fixed them with a glare of utmost hatred. He said not a word but mentally deducted points. 

That class period seemed to be the longest Harry had endured in his time at Hogwarts thus far, and when it finally drew to a close, Snape resumed his position at the front of the classroom. 

"Bottle your potions," he barked, "and write me a sixty inch piece of parchment on what it is you have brewed and what it does and its history, to be turned in next class period." 

"But, sir," a timid Ravenclaw said from Harry's left, "that's only two days away-" 

"Do as I say!" Snape hissed. 

The boy immediately was silenced. All around Harry, the students worked to hastily bottle their potions and left them on Snape's desk as they exited the classroom. As Harry bottled his potion, his elbow accidently bumped his cauldron, sending the remainder of the potion all over the floor. Hermione had already left by this point, and as Harry dared to look up, he suddenly noticed that he was the only student left in the classroom, and Snape was glaring at him as if he would personally use one of the Unforgivables upon him. 

Snape quickly approached Harry, who was by now feeling quite helpless. Try as he might, he was not quick enough to clean up the spilled potion. 

"Potter," Snape hissed dangerously low, "what is the meaning of this?" 

"Sir, I-" 

"No," Snape interrupted, "I can see clearly with my own two eyes that this is a waste of my valuable time, as are you and your very presence within this class, Potter. Advanced Potions is no place for you, and it never was. Now, get out of my classroom once and for all." 

Harry couldn't believe it. Even though Snape had been unfair and even downright cruel at times over the years, this was unheard of. Harry wanted nothing more than to pull out his wand and hex Snape to oblivion at that moment. Snape knew damn well that Harry needed Advanced Potions for his future career as an Auror, and over one mere accident, Snape was completely ready to permanently remove Harry from his class. 

Harry fixed Snape with an even glare and said between bared teeth, "With all due respect, Professor, perhaps you're being unreasonable." 

"How dare you question my decisions-" 

"No," Harry interrrupted firmly. "You would throw me out of your class because of one honest mistake, after I have worked honest and hard this year, proving that I can, in fact, manage to not only pass but excel at Potions? You know what I think, Snape?" 

"Oh? What's that, Potter?" Snape sneered sardonically. "Do enlighten me." 

"I think you're a bloody coward," Harry practically spat. "You're intimidated by me, aren't you? Just as you thought you had some sort of control over me, Sirius comes back, and you lose your control. You're lost it before. You can't bear the thought of people actually caring for each other because you're so bitter and well, afraid. And to think you had the nerve to call Sirius a coward. It's no wonder I blamed you." 

"You dare," hissed Snape. "You're an arrogant fool just like you pompous father, Potter, and a fool you'll always be until you stop fretting over your loses and start focusing on how you're going to actually defeat the Dark Lord. Your emotions have always been your greatest weakness, after all." 

"And your lack of emotions has been yours, Snape," Harry retorted. "You don't want me in your class, fine, but don't you dare try to force your twisted philosophies on me." Harry paused for a moment, continuing to glare at Snape. "You're pathetic, Snape," he finally added. "I never understood how or why Dumbledore trusted you, and if I didn't know better, I would swear your loyalties still lay with Voldemort even now." 

Before Snape could say a word, Harry grabbed his bag and swept out of the room in a fury. Unbeknowst to Harry, Snape had felt Harry's words to be hot daggers slashing at his tattered skin, searing the flesh raw. Harry's accusations hit Snape hard, and hearing Voldemort's name drove the knife further into the open wound. Many bitter feelings flooded through Snape in that instant, but it was with a rearing rage that he tore out of the classroom and back to the safety of his own chambers. 

He kept himself locked for hours in the darkness and didn't venture to move. Despite hunger and the onset of weariness, Snape didn't flinch. Years of pushing away feelings had taught him to exist in such silence, but it was unsettling and unnatural for any man to endure such solitude. Finally, in the late hours of the night, Snape heard a familiar voice. 

"Severus?" Dumbledore's gentle voice asked from the fireplace. The Headmaster's face appeared in the green flames. 

Snape lifted his gaze from the floor and just stared at Dumbledore, saying nothing. 

"Severus," Dumbledore repeated, now stepping into the room. "Why have you locked yourself in here like this?" 

Dumbledore could read Snape like an open book, though, and Snape knew this. He didn't have to say a word about anything Harry had said earlier that day. 

"As if you don't know," Snape muttered. 

"And you're going to allow his words to condemn you to your rooms?" Dumbledore implored. 

"What does it matter?" Snape sighed. 

Pause. 

"What do I matter?" he whispered. 

"You know better than that," Dumbledore firmly replied. "Don't you ever doubt your worth." 

"Worth what? A disposable spy? An ex-Death Eater? A bitter man? It seems like little would be lost if I-" 

"Don't you dare say it, Severus," Dumbledore said gravely. "Harry may not realize it, but you are worthwhile." 

"Just leave me in peace, Albus," Snape whispered nearly inaudibly. 

"But you aren't at peace, Severus," the Headmaster gently argued. "Now, we will discuss Harry's performance in your class tomorrow, but for now, I just want you to rest and think about how far you've come over the years." 

Snape sighed. "I will never see in myself what you claim to see, Albus. I don't know if that makes you or I a greater fool." 

"Severus, stop-" 

"No," he shook his head. 

"I think we've discussed enough for tonight," Dumbledore remarked, stifling a yawn. "It is late, but, Severus, please think about what I said." 

"Very well," Snape replied reluctantly. 

"Good night, Severus," the Headmaster said, stepping through the fireplace and leaving the Potions Master alone once again. 

Snape sat there in silence for several more long minutes, and try as he might to push Dumbledore's words out of his mind, he simply could not do so. 

_"You are worthwhile."_

"Damn you, old man," Snape mumbled. 


	21. Chapter TwentyOne

Chapter Twenty-One

Harry was quite thankful that it was a Saturday, for it meant no classes and free time all day to do whatever he wanted. He frowned, recalling that he hadn't the time the previous day to visit Sirius in Lupin's office, so he knew exactly what he would be doing with most of his time today. After a quick breakfast before his friends had even awoken, Harry proceeded down the stairs toward Lupin's office. He was glad to find the door partly open, which meant that Lupin was no doubt inside. 

Knocking on the door, Harry heard Lupin's voice call, "Come in!" 

Harry pushed the door open far enough for him to enter and stepped into the office. Lupin was apparently engrossed in grading papers, for there were parchments upon parchments spread out all over his desk. Lupin reached for a cup of coffee and took a sip before looking up at his visitor. 

"Ah, Harry," he smiled, "good morning." 

"Hullo, Remus," Harry replied, half-smiling. 

"It's the man of the hour!" Harry heard Sirius's voice joke from the wall. 

Turning around to face Sirius, Harry greeted his godfather. 

"Here to visit old Padfoot, Harry?" Lupin inquired politely. 

"Yes," Harry said. "Is that all right?" 

"Of course," Lupin responded, "although I must request that you keep your voices down. I've a lot of grading to do, I'm afraid." 

"Aw, you're no fun, Moony," Sirius taunted in a voice of mock-hurt, eyeing Lupin innocently. 

Lupin raised a hand and waved Sirius off, shaking his head and smiling. "Yes, I always was the boring one, eh?" he softly jested. "Anyway, stay as long as you wish, Harry." 

"Thanks, Remus," Harry replied, taking a chair and moving it over to face Sirius's portrait. Taking a seat, Harry sighed and looked at Sirius. 

"So?" Sirius asked. "Anything new in your life, Harry? Any girlfriend or girlfriends, hmmmm? Surely James's son at the ripe age of sixteen is being smothered by girls." 

"Er, well... kind of," Harry said, turning a bit red. 

"Oh? Who's the lucky gel?" 

"Ginny Weasley." 

"Didja hear that, Moony?" Sirius called across the room. "Harry's got himself a girlfriend! And Arthur's youngest and only daughter, too! Wow, Harry, I'm impressed." Sirius winked knowingly at Harry, who regarded his godfather in somewhat of a confused manner. 

"That's nice," Lupin murmured, smiling slightly, obviously trying to concentrate. 

Harry's expression then turned sour as a scowl came upon his face, and when Sirius's eyes darted back to his godson, he was now the one who was confused. 

"Harry?" Sirius asked. "Is something wrong?" 

"It's..." Harry hesitated. "It's Potions class... or should I say the lack there of?" 

"Pardon?" Sirius inquired, furrowing his brow. 

"Er... well, I was in Advanced Potions," Harry tried to explain. "I want to be an Auror after Hogwarts, and according to what McGonagall told me last year, I need to take Potions during my final two years at Hogwarts." 

"Harry, I am so sorry," Sirius said apologetically. "Having to put up with Snape for two additional years would be more than enough to dampen anyone's spirit." 

"Yeah, well... looks like I won't need to worry about putting up with the git any longer." 

Upon hearing Harry's last sentence, Lupin placed his quill down and looked up quizzically at Harry and Sirius. 

"Harry?" Lupin asked tentatively. "What do you mean?" 

"Yeah, what d'you mean?" Sirius echoed, growing anger apparent in his tone. 

"I'm not in his class anymore," Harry mumbled. "He... he threw me out." 

"Why, that miserable, greasy, no-good-" Sirius started to say, but Lupin gently interrupted him. 

"Harry, why would he do such a thing?" Lupin questioned, trying to keep the conversation reasonable. 

"Because apparently I'm a 'waste of his time,'" Harry sulked and went on to explain the circumstances under which Snape had thrown him out of his classroom yesterday. 

"I swear it, Harry," Sirius growled, baring his teeth, "if I weren't just a portrait, I'd give that- (Sirius grated out a few choice words that Harry was shocked to hear) -something to get upset about!" 

"Sirius," Lupin said, shaking his head. "That's not going to do any good, and you know it. Harry, have you talked to Dumbledore yet about this?" 

"No," Harry responded, "but I'm not sure if I even want to. I mean, why should I go begging to be allowed into his class again? I'll- I dunno, I'll find some way or another to become an Auror," Harry continued, trying to convince himself that he could still pursue his dream profession. 

"Harry, listen to me," Lupin said firmly. "Before I was even a professor, and before Sirius was unfairly thrown into Azkaban, and before your father... died... we were all Aurors for the Ministry and worked with the Order. I can tell you from experience that the requirements are very strigent for being admitted into the three-year program for Auror training. Unfortunately, you will need Advanced Potions and at least an E on your N.E.W.T.s." 

"Then it's hopeless," Harry muttered, hanging his head. "I guess... I guess I'll just have to look for another career, then... that is, if I even survive this war." 

"Don't say that, Harry!" Sirius exclaimed, obviously unnerved by hearing such a time. "You're the only one who can stop Voldemort. You won't be like me, Harry... I know you'll live on." 

"How can you be so sure?" Harry asked shakily. "I just don't feel so sure about much of anything any longer..." 

"No one knows anything for sure, Harry," Lupin gently explained, "but you've got friends who would give their lives for you if they had to... I'd do it if it meant saving your life." 

"No!" Harry cried instinctively. "No, Remus! I don't want you to wind up like-" 

"Like me?" Sirius whispered. "Harry, if there was any other way to die, I wouldn't have wanted it. I died fighting... fighting against the Death Eaters... and fighting for what's right... fighting for you, Harry. I couldn't just have stayed at home that night, knowing that your life was endangered." 

"But, Sirius," Harry replied desperately. "If I hadn't been so foolish as to allow Voldemort to- to trick me into thinking you were at the Department of Mysteries, you'd still be here... It's because of me that you're dead. It's my fault; it's my fault," Harry uttered, tears beginning to well up in his eyes. He dashed them away furiously. "I blamed Dumbledore... I blamed Snape... I of course blamed the Death Eaters and Voldemort... but it all comes down to it being my fault..." 

"Stop it, Harry," Sirius said firmly yet gently. "Don't blame yourself for my actions. I _chose_ to leave my house that night, even though it was going against Snape's words. It was an honor to fight alongside you, Harry. The only thing I regret is that I couldn't have been there for you more... and now, I'm barely here as it is." 

"Harry," Lupin sighed heavily, "situations like what happened last summer are never easy for us to bear, but what choice do we have? You're not alone, Harry; you're not alone." 

Lupin meekly embraced Harry, while Sirius looked on with desperate, longing eyes. If he could have, he would have reached out of that portrait and taken his godson into his arms. 

For once in his life, Snape had slept in. He rarely got more than five hours of sleep, and to have the opportunity to push for six hours was a rare treat indeed. There was nothing to really wake up for, anyway, and the moment he opened his dark eyes, the Head of Slytherin knew that he would be in for a headache. 

As he lay in his large four-poster on the dark green silken sheets, Snape quickly recalled the words Dumbledore and he had exchanged the previous night. He knew the inevitable would happen before the day was done: Dumbledore would summon him to his office to "discuss" Harry's performance in Advanced Potions. 

"More like he'll tell me that the celebrity child must be allowed back in, no buts about it," Snape mumbled, finally sitting up in the bed. He rubbed at his eyes, as if that might push the drowsiness away that he was currently feeling. A long, hot shower was definitely a necessity at the moment, but before Snape stood up from the bed, Dumbledore's head appeared in the grate, surrounded by green flames. 

"Good morning to you, Severus!" the old codger exclaimed, smiling benignly. 

"Merlin, Albus!" Snape admonished. "Don't you know how to knock? Haven't I the right to some privacy?" 

"Ah, good to see your bright and cheery self is quite well and awake, my boy," Dumbledore beamed in a manner that Snape found particularly unnatural and disturbing. 

"Yes, well... I do try to make an impression," Snape drawled sarcastically. "What is the meaning of this 'happy calling,' Headmaster?" 

"Care to join me for lunch in my office in a half an hour, seeing as it will then be noon and you have already slept too late for it to be breakfast?" 

"What choice do I have?" Snape grumbled. "Fine, fine... I'll be there, sir. Now, kindly remove your all-seeing eyes from my chambers." 

"But of course," Dumbledore mused and then disappeared. 

With a groan, Snape stood up and proceeded to the bathroom, where he quickly showered, including washing his hair (yes, the "greasy" Potions Master does wash his hair), shaved, and dressed in the usual black ensemble. He didn't bother to examine himself in the mirror, as that was hardly necessary when he wasn't concerned in the least about vanity. Snape warded the door to his chambers and walked through the dingy dungeons, nodding curtly to several Slytherin students as he walked past them. 

Making his way up to the main level, Snape felt the temperature rise slightly, for the castle was oftentimes quite drafty and cool in the winter. He wasted no time in making his way to Dumbledore's office, where he almost reluctantly muttered the password: "Pixie Stix." 

After ascending the stairs, Snape entered Dumbledore's office and took the proffered seat opposite the old man. The food was already laid out on the table between them, and feeling quite hungry, Snape picked up a sandwich and began nibbling on it. 

"Thank you for coming, Severus," Dumbledore began. "Delightful day, isn't it?" 

"Do get to the point, Albus," Snape muttered in between bites. 

"Of course," the aged wizard conceded. "Well, I'm sure you know why you are here, Severus. We are to discuss Harry's performance in your class." 

"As if I hadn't expected this," Snape sneered. "What of it, sir?" 

"Severus," he said sternly, "I know the boy and you do not get along, but was it fair of you to permanently remove him from your class? On what grounds was this done?" 

Snape placed the half-eaten sandwich on the plate in front of him and sighed, shaking his head. "Fair, Headmaster? Do humor me and give me an ample definition of what it fair in your eyes. You would no doubt do anything in your power to ensure that the famous Harry Potter is granted special privileges. The boy is a law unto himself. I've seen it since the day he arrived at Hogwarts, and mark my word, Albus, I knew he would be exactly like his father." 

"Is this what this is about, Severus?" Dumbledore inquired. "Please tell me that you have finally managed to place aside your differences regarding James Potter and his friends and stopped making Harry suffer your indignation." 

"It is hardly that simple," Snape growled, turning his face away from the Headmaster. "I will not sit here and be scolded like a damn child, Albus." 

"No?" Dumbledore implored. "Then I suggest you stop acting like one, Severus. This grudge you've held against Harry because of his father's actions toward you as a youth has gone on for too long." 

"It's not just a grudge!" Snape barked, clutching the arms of his chair fiercely. "We all depend on that- boy... as our salvation from the Dark Lord! You know this, Albus; you know this. Before he came along, I- I thought... that I would be the one to-" 

"To defeat him?" Dumbledore asked softly. 

"Yes," Snape sighed resignedly. "It was the least I could do to- make up for the past." 

"It is not your battle to fight," Dumbledore stated gently. 

"No?" Snape questioned, glaring at Dumbledore. "Then why do I have to feel this... this accursed guilt resting on my conscience? Mr. Potter never did anything to deserve such a burden as the one he bears... Why not let someone else take it, someone who has a penance to pay?" 

"That was and is not for me to decide," Dumbledore replied, shaking his head in defeat, "nor is it for you to decide, my boy. There are greater powers at work here, above and beyond our understanding and control. You know what the Prophecy speaks of, Severus, and there is no other way. Harry must destroy Voldemort, or else Voldemort must destroy Harry." 

Snape visibly cringed upon hearing that last statement. "Don't say his bloody name," he muttered. "I know the Prophecy, yes... but that doesn't change how I feel." 

"Well, only you can change that," Dumbledore said somberly. "As for Harry, what say you, Severus? Will you allow him back in your class?" 

"Very well," Snape muttered, "but that doesn't mean I have to like it." 

After a few minutes, Harry had settled down some. He wiped any stray tears from his face and regarded his two friends. 

"What now?" he asked. 

"Do you want to talk to Dumbledore about it?" Lupin suggested. 

Harry sighed, "Maybe... maybe I should, but I don't want to go alone." 

"I'll be happy to come with you, Harry," Lupin supplied. 

"Hey!" Sirius exclaimed from his spot on the wall. "What about me?" 

"I suppose you'll be wanting us to carry you there?" Lupin smirked. 

"Well, as Harry's godfather, I think I have a right to be there," Sirius said smugly. 

Harry smiled slightly and said, "Of course you're coming, Sirius, and thank you, Remus... thank you, both of you." 

Together, Lupin and Harry removed Sirius's portrait from the wall and left Lupin's office. They headed for Dumbledore's office, and once they arrived, Lupin gave the password, and they proceeded to climb the stairs. When they stepped into the office, though, they were all surprised to see that Dumbledore wasn't alone. 

"Severus!" Lupin exclaimed, while at the same time Sirius remarked in disgust, "Snivellus!" 

Snape glared at the newly arrived group and stood up from his chair, saying hastily, "Excuse me, Headmaster, but I believe our meeting is over." 

"Sit down, Severus," Dumbledore instructed firmly. "Do come in," he told the others, "and have a seat. I believe we have much to discuss." 

Lupin agreed easily enough, but Harry stood off to the side at some distance, gripping onto Sirius's portrait for his life. 

"Harry," Dumbledore repeated, "please, lad. Join us. And you, too, of course, Sirius." 

Harry glared at Snape for a moment and then sat down. 

"Am I correct in saying that you have all come here to discuss Harry's placement in Potions class?" Dumbledore asked. 

Lupin nodded, but Harry and Sirius just remained silent and didn't barge an inch. 

"Interesting," acquiesced Dumbledore. "Severus and I were just discussing that very topic." 

"And?" asked Sirius impatiently. 

"Well, why don't you tell them, Severus?" Dumbledore asked, feigning innocence. 

Snape glowered at Dumbledore, feeling as if he were being punished in a cruel and unusual way. "As per the Headmaster's request, you are being admitted back into Advanced Potions, Mr. Potter," Snape said coldly, not even looking at Harry. 

"'As per the Headmaster's request?'" Harry questioned angrily. "If that's the case, then maybe I don't wanna be in your class at all, Snape!" 

Sirius couldn't help but to smirk, but both Dumbledore and Lupin appeared unnerved by Harry's outburst. 

"You insolent child!" Snape barked. "You dare-" 

"Enough!" Dumbledore yelled. "This is absolutely absurd, do you realize? Harry, Severus... please," the Headmaster practically pleaded, "can we not just set aside our differences and work together?" 

"I would gladly do so, sir," Harry said between clenched teeth, "if he would cooperate." Harry gestured toward Snape. 

"I completely agree," Sirius backed Harry up. 

"No one asked your opinion, Black," Snape barked. 

Lupin and Dumbledore were both shaking their heads, thinking a resolution hopeless, when Harry stated evenly, "Just let me speak, all right, Sirius?" 

Sirius nodded quietly and backed off. Dumbledore glanced from Snape to Harry, from Harry to Snape, and remarked, "I believe we should give you both some privacy. Then perhaps you can discuss things more openly without an audience." 

Sirius was about to protest, but Lupin had already picked up his portrait and was out the door. Dumbledore paused briefly by the exit and said, "You may take as long as you like. My office is yours for the afternoon." 

Dumbledore left, and Snape and Harry found themselves alone. Harry tried to stay calm and focused and recalled Lupin's words regarding how to handle Snape. It was unlikely that Snape would back down or be the first one to work toward reconciliation, so Harry decided to try to take the first step in what he hoped was the right direction. 

"Professor," Harry began in a forced calm, "please hear me out. First of all, let me say... I'm, well... I'm sorry about what I said yesterday." 

Snape thought his ears to be deceiving him. Was Harry _apologizing_ to him? 

The Potions Master sighed heavily and said, "It's nothing I haven't been accused of before, Mr. Potter. I assure you that your words left no remaining impression." 

"But-" Harry hesitated, "but that doesn't make it right... that you should have to be accused, I mean." 

"When you have lived the life I have, Potter, it comes as no surprise to hear such things. You were angry. Those words were your daggers, your defense... plain and simple as that." 

"Yes," Harry muttered, feeling some residual anger flare inside him, "I was angry. And why to you suppose that was, _sir_?" Harry sneered. 

"Don't use that tone on me," Snape growled. 

"Oh?" Harry asked sardonically. "As if you haven't done the exact same thing to me... how many times now? I think I've lost count." 

"Fine, fine!" Snape barked. "Enough! I am not wasting my time this afternoon to sit here and argue with you, Potter, but-" 

"But according to you, I was already wasting your precious, valuable time by even taking your class... by even _existing._" 

"What did you say?" Snape asked incredulously. 

"You heard me," Harry scowled. 

"No," Snape interjected adamantly. "That last word you spoke." 

"What? 'Existing?'" 

"Yes!" Snape hissed. "Do you enjoy your games, Potter? Your father taunted me for merely _existing._ Like father, like son." 

"Stop it!" Harry yelled. "Stop saying that I'm like my father, all right? Because I'm not! I saw how he acted when he was my age, and you were right. Happy? You were right! I saw how he treated you-" 

"Oh, yes," Snape sneered. "You saw, all right, Mr. Potter, when you sneaked into my _private_ thoughts. How very Gryffindor of you to act on impulse, hoping to find out something about your nasty Potions Master, eh?" 

"Don't you get it, Snape?" Harry implored, losing his temper. "I saw how my father acted toward you... what he said to you... what he did to you... and you know what? I actually felt sorry for you for once." 

"Oh, how nice," Snape retorted sarcastically. "Pity." 

"No," Harry disagreed. "It's called understanding... or at least partially. I didn't want you to be right about my father, but you were... and now..." 

"Now?" pressed Snape impatiently. 

"Now I'm hoping you will put down you own daggers and accept my apology." 

That was the last thing Snape had been expecting to hear, and he was at a loss for words for a moment. Sighing, Snape said, "Fine. Apology accepted." 

"And what about class?" Harry inquired. 

"You heard the Headmaster; you're allowed back into Advanced Potions." 

"Oh," Harry said resignedly. "All right, then... I guess- I'll see you in class, then, Professor." 

Harry stood up to leave, and as he turned his back toward Snape, some strange, nearly foreign feeling called remorse caught in Snape's embittered heart. Standing up, Snape hastily went toward Harry and touched him on the shoulder. 

"Harry, wait," he said softly. 

Harry froze. 

"Wha- what did you call me?" Harry asked, unsure of what else to say. 

"Har- I mean, Mr. Potter," Snape corrected himself, "I-" 

Harry's bright green eyes were fixed directly into Snape's endless black eyes, reminding the Potions Master of Lily. His voice caught in his throat, but then trying to clear it, Snape whispered, "I'm sorry." 

"It's- all right," Harry hesitated, still stunned by Snape's display of openness. "So, is everything all right now between us?" 

"I can't say," Snape admitted. "I cannot guarantee that I won't lose my temper at you in the future, Mr. Potter, but I will try to be more... reasonable." 

Harry nodded. "And I'll do the same. See you in class, then, sir." 

Snape merely nodded and watched as Harry left. As soon as the boy was out the door, Dumbledore returned to the room with a ridiculously huge smile on his face. 

"Don't even say it, Albus," Snape warned, fixing the Headmaster with what was supposed to be a menacing glare. 

"I'm proud of you, my boy," Dumbledore chimed. 

Snape groaned, and, shaking his head in dismay, left the office.


	22. Chapter TwentyTwo

Chapter Twenty-Two

Janaury passed into February, but the wintry weather of Scotland did not relent. In fact, more snow had fallen, making the depth of it even deeper, which meant trudging through tunnels that had been dug through the snow whenever the students had a Care of Magical Creatures class. Being confined within the walls of the castle, the students grew restless and bored, for ever since the attack in Hogsmeade back in the fall, all weekend trips to the small wizarding village had been cancelled. Hermione constantly reminded Harry and Ron that they could be using all the extra time inside to study and prepare for the N.E.W.T.s, despite the fact that said wizarding tests were still over a year away. 

Dumbledore's Army had resumed after several months on hiatus, but there were unfortunately less students in it than the previous year. With some of the seventh year students from last year graduated and a couple of others who simply seemed to have lost interest, like Marietta Edgecombe, the number was smaller, but it was still large enough to keep the unofficial club going. Harry demonstrated many of the same spells to block hexes and curses as the previous year, but in the midst of it, he seemed distracted. While he was in classes as well, Harry's concentration was wavering, and he would disappear for several hours each evening, leaving his friends wondering where he had gone. 

Harry was visiting Sirius, but he didn't talk about his visits much with his friends, who were obviously beginning to feel neglected. Poor Ginny began to wonder if she had made a mistake by pursuing a quasi-relationship with Harry. Valentine's Day was fast approaching, after all, and Harry had not mentioned anything to her. She wondered if they were even really dating, as it were, for they had only shared a few kisses here and there over the past several months, and most of the time, Harry's mind seemed elsewhere. Sighing it away, Ginny supposed that was the price she had to pay for being the girlfriend of the Boy Who Lived. 

The day before Valentine's Day had arrived by now, and outside the snow was falling harder than ever. The temperatures were subzero, and large gusts of wind ripped across the grounds, tossing the snow about, whirling it relentlessly in the air. To compensate for the extremely cold temperatures, more torches were lit within the walls of Hogwarts, and the fires that burned in the grates were enchanted to burn longer and hotter. 

After his classes were done for the day, Harry returned his books to his dormitory and was about to head down to the Great Hall for a quick dinner when Ron stopped him. 

"Hey, mate," he said, "you going down for dinner?" 

"Yup," Harry hastily replied, "but I was hoping to visit Sirius afterwards..." 

"Again?" Ron asked incredulously. 

Harry threw Ron a pointed look and inquired, "What's that supposed to mean?" 

"What d'you think, Harry?" Ron retorted. "You've been sneaking off every night to see Sirius, haven't you? 'Course we figured you'd been seeing him _some_ nights, but you've been missing from the common room nearly _every_ night now." 

"So?" Harry asked, not trying to understand Ron's point. 

"So? So?!" Ron mimicked angrily, his ears turning red. "Well, in case you hadn't noticed, Harry, there are _other_ people besides Sirius who are your friends, but you won't be havin' too many friends if you keep ignoring them!" 

Harry glared at Ron, mumbling, "Like any of you would understand, anyway." 

Harry strode past his best friend in a huff and nearly plowed right into Neville as he entered the room. 

Staring at Harry's retreating form, his eyes large in surprise, Neville asked, confused, "What was that all about?" 

"I wish I knew," Ron mumbled. "C'mon, Neville. Let's go." 

Neville simply shrugged his shoulders and proceeded to follow Ron to the Great Hall. Upon their arrival, they noticed that Harry had already eaten about half of the food on his plate. Although they sat around Harry, neither Neville nor Ron, nor Hermione and Ginny upon joining them, said anything to Harry about his strange behavior. Within five minutes, Harry had devoured everything on his plate, muttered a quick "excuse me," and had left the table. 

"What's his problem?" Ron asked, looking to the other Gryffindors, hoping for some sort of answer. 

Hermione, of course, offered one: "Well, with Sirius back and all, Harry just wants to spend a lot of time with him, which is understandable, but you must admit that he's been spending an awful lot of time with him." She frowned and took a sip of pumpkin juice. 

A depressed look covered Ginny's face as she ate, for she had been secretly hoping that Harry had something planned for Valentine's Day. Ron had taken notice of his younger sister's discomfort, and seeing his sister in such a state made him angry, especially since his best friend was the cause of it. 

"That does it!" Ron yelled, pounding his fist on the wooden surface of the table. "Harry can't keep acting like such a prat! If he won't change his attitude, maybe I'll give him a reason to..." 

"Now, Ron," Hermione scolded, "that's no way to handle the situation. We must-" 

"What? Talk to him?" Ginny blurted. "He hardly says a word to anyone; he spends all his time with that portrait-" 

"You shouldn't talk about Sirius that way," Hermione argued. 

"Oh, shut it, Hermione!" Ginny cried. "How would _you_ feel if your boyfriend didn't plan anything special for Valentine's Day, let alone hardly spend any time alone with you?" 

"But I don't have a-" 

"That's beside the point," Ginny muttered, clearly exasperated. 

"Stop it," Neville mumbled, feeling uneasy because of the quarreling that was going on before him. 

When no one listened, he repeated, "Stop it." 

Still, they continued to fight. 

"Stop it!" he exclaimed, finally drawing their attention. 

Everyone was shocked to have just heard Neville shout. Regarding him with large eyes and gaping mouths, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were all speechless. 

"That's better," Neville said. "Look, if Harry wants to talk to us, he will, right? I mean, he's always come to his friends in the past when he's had a problem." 

"Yeah, but he keeps goin' to Sirius," Ron muttered, "and apparently, Sirius _is_ the cause of the problem." 

The others sighed, shaking their head hopelessly, and resumed eating. 

Meanwhile, Harry had made his way to Lupin's office to visit none other than Sirius. Lupin was busy grading papers, as was usual, and tonight he had decided to take his dinner in his office. 

With a small smile, Lupin said, "Good evening, Harry. Here to see Sirius?" 

"Of course," Harry replied. 

"Very well, then." 

Harry took a seat in front of Sirius's painting, and before long, they were engaged in an animated discussion about Quidditch. Sirius was laughing loudly, as was Harry, but Lupin tried his best to simply ignore them and continue concentrating on his work. 

"And one time," Sirius barked, rolling with laughter, "James put a jinx on Snivelly's broomstick, which made it fly backwards in a kind of zig-zag pattern, and then-" 

Lupin groaned with dismay upon hearing Sirius's recounting of one of the Marauders' many infamous pranks. To make matters worse, this was not the first time that Lupin was finding his patience running short. Ever since Harry had been visiting Sirius every evening, Lupin was finding it more and more difficult to concentrate, and he found himself staying up much later than he desired, merely to have the next day's lesson plans ready and the students' parchments graded. Being the reasonable and understand man that he was, Lupin tried to tell himself that Harry and Sirius were just catching up on all the time they had missed each other. He certainly didn't want to be the one to put a damper on their time spent together. 

But the noise level was growing insistantly louder and Lupin's tolerance ever thinner. 

"Hey, Padfoot, Harry!" he called over to them. "Would you mind keeping it down over there?" 

"Sure, sure, no problem, Moony!" Sirius yelled back, grinning widely. 

Lupin hoped he would be able to work in peace now, but his attempt at finding such working conditions was in vain, for not more than ten minutes later, Sirius and Harry were shouting and laughing again. Lupin could feel his heart beating faster as the blood rushed to his head, and in that moment, the feral side of him was growing ever stronger. His breathing quickened, and his grip on the quill tightened until it snapped in half. 

"Did I not tell you to be quiet?!" Lupin suddenly barked, standing up in a fury, glaring at the pair on the other side of the room. 

Both Harry and Sirius was startled by Lupin's outburst, but having seen his friend like this before, Sirius replied, not completely seriously, "Hey, we're sorry about that, Moony. We were just having a good time, you know." 

"Clearly," Lupin frowned, walking toward where Harry was seated. "Harry, I think you've visited long enough." 

Harry was still at a loss for words. Nodding silently, Harry stood up and left the room. From his framed portrait on the wall, Sirius scowled at Lupin. 

"What'd you have do to that for?" he asked, disappointed and feeling offended. 

"Sirius," Lupin sighed, "Harry had been neglecting his studies. Even his grade in my class is clearly dropping, and Defense Against the Dark Arts is one of his strongest subjects. Surely some of his other professors will not be as lenient as I have been, especially Severus." 

"Don't get me started on that git," Sirius growled, baring his teeth. 

Lupin shook his head. "Won't you ever let go of your hatred, Sirius?" 

"What for? He never gave me a reason to; he never let go of his, and with how he treats Harry-" 

"He is not all that bad," Lupin argued. "Maybe if you would talk to him-" 

"Talk to him?" Sirius snorted. "Right. Like Snape and I would ever have a civilized conversation. If I weren't already dead, I'd say that one of us would wind up in a matchbox before the so-called conversation was over." 

"He did let Harry back into his class," Lupin acquiesced, "but getting back to the point at hand, Harry needs to concentrate not only on his studies but on spending more time with his other friends. Padfoot, surely you understand that." 

Sighing, Sirius nodded. "Yes, yes, I do understand," he agreed. "Sometimes, I must admit, it's just like having James back, and I know what you're going to say, that Harry isn't his father, but, Moony, in so many ways, he is just like James. I never really had much of a chance to get to know Harry when I was alive, to be there for him when he needed me..." 

"I know," Lupin said gently. "I know, Padfoot, old friend." 

Ginny was sitting nervously in the common room, anxiously waiting for Harry. She had purposefully dressed in some of her nicer robes and done her hair nicely, hoping to impress him. When Harry came sauntering into the common room, though, he was dressed in his plain school robes and his hair was messy, as usual. 

"Good morning, Harry," Ginny greeted him, smiling brightly, even if it was being forced. 

Having barely noticed Ginny, Harry glanced quickly at her and muttered, "Hey, Ginny." 

Sitting down and opening a book, Harry yawned as he tried to read the next chapter in his Transfigurations textbook. Ginny frowned and cleared her throat, in hopes that Harry would at least look at her. He kept his eyes fixed on the page in front of him, though, the words blurring under his tired eyes. 

Scoffing, Ginny said loudly, "Well, if that's all you have to say, then fine!" 

Harry looked up, truly perplexed, and asked, "What are you talking about, Ginny?" 

"Oh, please!" she retorted. "As if you don't know!" 

"I don't," Harry said cluelessly. "What?" 

"Have you any idea what day today is, Harry Potter?" 

"Er... February the... 12th? Or something like that?" 

"You heartless prat!" Ginny yelled, throwing a pillow roughly at his head, which hit the intended target squarely in the forehead. "How _dare_ you! You have the nerve to act all innocent, as if you didn't know all along that today is Valentine's Day! Of course, I shouldn't really be that surprised; you've been utterly ignoring me, anyway!" 

"Wha-?" Harry questioned, shaking his cloudy head. Then the horrible truth of what Ginny was saying struck him. "Oh, Ginny, I- I'm sorry... I didn't know, honestly-" 

"It doesn't matter now!" Ginny cried, her eyes welling up with bitter tears. "You can find yourself another girl, Harry, because I'm through!" 

Ginny stomped out of the room and up the stairs to the girls' dormitories. Harry was left sitting there, still in somewhat of a daze. This was the second person to yell at him in the past twenty-four hours. Since he didn't have anything else to do, Harry decided that he would pay a visit to the only person who probably wouldn't judge him: Hagrid. 

Grabbing his scarf and cloak, Harry left the common room and headed toward Hagrid's hut. As he trudged through the banks of snow, Harry's breath caught in his throat as he inhaled the frigid air. Did no one understand? Frustrated and angry, Harry wanted to pound something into pieces. Every step he took left a deep intention in the snow, for he was practically stomping across the grounds. 

When Harry reached Hagrid's hut, he knocked furiously at the door. The half-giant's voice called "Jus' a minute!" from inside, and within a couple of seconds, the overlarge wooden door bounded open. 

"Oh, hullo, Harry!" Hagrid bellowed. "Yeh come ter visit, eh?" 

"Can I come in, Hagrid?" Harry asked, his teeth chattering wildly. 

"'Course, 'course," Hagrid replied. "Ah jus' put a large kettle o' tea on the fire. Yeh want some? How 'bout summat ter go with it? Rock cake? Ah reckon 'tis only three weeks ol'." 

"Er, no, thanks," Harry mumbled. "Actually, I just came to talk..." 

"Oh? All righ'. Tha's wha' Ah'm here fer. Wha's on yer mind, Harry?" 

"Well," Harry sighed heavily, "it seems like practically all my friends are mad at me..." 

Harry went on to explain what had happened. Hagrid drank his tea silently, with the exception of his gulps, and when Harry finished, Hagrid said, "Well, Harry, Ah'll be honest with yeh. Ain't never easy ter satisfy e'erybody. Yer friends'll understand tha' Sirius is impor'ant ter yeh, but yeh can' ferget all yer other friends, too. Yeh got ter comp'mise...balance it ou'." 

"I know you're right, Hagrid," Harry agreed with a heavy sigh. "It's just that I thought I'd lost Sirius forever, and-" 

"No need ter explain ter me, Harry," Hagrid smiled. "Ah understand." 

"Thanks, Hagrid," Harry replied sincerely, paused, then added, "Maybe I'll have some of that rock cake after all."


	23. Chapter TwentyThree

Chapter Twenty-Three

The darkness invaded in the early part of the evening, leaving its impression all about the castle. As Lupin leaned on the window sill and gazed at the grounds, a half moon escaped between two passing clouds, gently illuminating the ground blanketed in whiteness beneath, glittering peacefully, if only for a brief moment before the clouds overtook the moon again, bringing the darkness into looming existence once more. Sighing, Lupin rubbed at his eyes, feeling the toll of a hard day's work and knowing that his amber eyes were no doubt encircled with black. 

"Well," he murmured to Sirius from across the room, "I am off to my room for the night. Good night, Padfoot." 

Sirius frowned, knowing that he would be left alone for several hours, but after having been alone for several months previously, he supposed it wasn't so terrible. 

"Good night, Moony," he repled. "Sleep well, old friend." 

Nodding, Lupin yawned deeply and shuffled toward the door. He secured the office for the night and headed for his room, where he was grateful to finally be after such a long day. The bed looked quite inviting, for his body ached, and his eyes were worn and his vision blurry. Lupin wryly wondered if he needed spectacles, at least for reading, as he oftentimes felt much older than his mere thirty-seven years. Monthly transformations into a werewolf really were taking their toll on Lupin after all those years, and as he regarded his reflection in the full-length mirror just then, he frowned at his tattered robes covered in patches and his ever-greying hair that hung in layers around his face, which was probably more grey than light brown now. 

"You are getting old, aren't you, Remus?" he asked himself. Chuckling dryly, he added, "Oh, well... It's nothing new now, is it?" 

Before another five minutes passed, Lupin dropped onto the four-poster and allowed himself to be immersed completely in the down comforter and pillows. Closing his eyes, his last thoughts before he drifted off to sleep were about Harry. He was concerned about the boy's behavior now more than ever. It was evident that Harry had been depressed and angry over the loss of Sirius before, but now that Sirius was back, in a way, Harry was displaying an unhealthy obsession with having to see his late godfather whenever he had a free moment, and as much as Lupin wanted Harry and Sirius to continue to grow closer and spend time together, Lupin also knew that Harry could not afford to allow not only his school work and other friendship suffer, but also his duty to the Order and the rest of the wizarding world. Lupin knew Harry's predicament as having to be the "Chosen One," as it were, was not at all fair, but it was what it was: the truth. No one had control over that. 

_I will talk to him tomorrow,_ Lupin thought. _I didn't mean to yell at him like I did, but I am worried... I suppose I was more frustrated about the fact that Harry could very well be ultimately endangering himself and everyone else by his behavior than I was about being distracted from my own much less important work._

With those thoughts lingering in his tired mind, Lupin drifted off into a fitfull sleep, full of visions of Voldemort, his wand raised and ready to strike Harry. The images seemed to play out agonizingly slowly, but there was no real or definite ending to the whole of them, for they cycled and recycled themselves relentlessly through Lupin's mind. Silent curses flew through the air, hitting wizards and witches, both good and evil alike, but as for Harry and Voldemort, the face-off did not conclude. 

After several hours had passed, Lupin awoke with a start, gasping as he sat up quickly in bed and grabbed at the covers, a cold sweat dripping down his face. Looking around, he breathed a sigh of relief that he had only been dreaming, but he knew that those dreams would one day in the not too distant future come to pass, and they would prove themselves real, perhaps more real than anything, yet at the same time, filling those who lived to bear witness to such trying times with a kind of utter disbelief in their shock over the realization that something so horrid could really be happening. But it was already happening. Voldemort was a threat that refused to die. 

Lupin shook his head wearily and left the bed, knowing that it would do him little, if any, good to dwell on such terrible things. He dressed and performed a couple of quick cleansing charms on himself and headed for the Great Hall for breakfast. He was always an early riser, and it was not uncommon for much of the rest of the Great Hall to be empty upon his arrival on most mornings. Taking his usual seat at the Head Table, Lupin's eyes passed over the student tables, and to his surprise, he noticed that Harry was already sitting at the Gryffindor table, silenting eating his breakfast all by himself. 

Frowning, Lupin picked up his plate and proceeded to walk over to the table where Harry was seated. Taking a seat next to the boy, Lupin smiled slightly. 

"Good morning, Harry," he greeted him, trying to sound calm. 

Harry didn't look up from his plate as he picked aimlessly at the bacon with his fork. He continued to shuffle the bacon around on the plate, but finally, sighing exasperately, Harry dropped his fork onto the plate, the silver colliding with the china with a loud clang. Gripping his glass of pumpkin juice firmly with his right hand, Harry took a long swig of the drink and then promptly slammed the glass down onto the wooden table, shaking the rest of the plates and utensils nearby. 

"Yeah, good morning, indeed," Harry grumbled, his brow furrowed angrily. 

"Harry," Lupin said hesitantly, "if you're upset about what I said yesterday, I'm sorry. I was frustrated, I suppose, because of having too much work to do, but that isn't really the reason I was so short with you." 

"Oh?" Harry retorted, finally facing Lupin, but fixing him with a rude glare. "Then why? 'Course it's really no different than how the rest of the people I _thought_ were my friends have been treating me..." He paused, then added with extreme bite in his tone, "Expect Sirius." 

Lupin rubbed at his temples warily. This was not going well at all. Shaking his head slowly, Lupin prompted, "Perhaps we ought to discuss this elsewhere, Harry." 

"No, here's just fine with me," Harry muttered. "What is so important that you needed to come over here and tell me?" 

"I'm worried about you, Harry," Lupin said frankly. 

"Don't be," Harry said, clenching his jaw. "I'm fine." 

"Fine?" Lupin asked, a dry, mirthless laugh escaping his mouth. "I'd hardly call your current mood fine. What I mean to say it that-" 

Lupin was finding the words difficult to articulate. He already had a sinking feeling that anything he would say would only serve to further upset Harry. How could he go about telling Harry what he needed to without Harry taking offense to it? 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Lupin continued, "Well, it's your visiting Sirius every day that's concerning me, and before you say anything," Lupin rushed, "please hear me out. You've developed an unhealthy obsession, Harry. In spending every waking moment you have with Sirius, you are neglecting everything and everyone else in your life, including yourself." 

"What?" Harry asked incredulously. "How-? How can you say that, Remus? Oh, I get it; you're jealous that I'm spending more time with Sirius than you are, aren't you? He's practically _living_ in your office, so I don't see how you can sit here and say that I'm spending too much time with him. For heaven's sake, I didn't even see him for months! I thought I'd never see him again!" 

"No, Harry," Lupin interjected. "You don't understand... I- I want you to spend time with him. Of course I do, but your friends, your classes... your responsibilities-" 

"My friends just don't understand what it feels like to lose someone you care about so much... someone you loved just gone... like that." He snapped his fingers to illustrate his point, his voice dropping sadly, his eyes drifting away from Lupin's face. 

"I understand, Harry," Lupin said gently. "Do you forget that Sirius is also my good friend? That your parents were my good friends? That I lost my parents years ago to Voldemort as well? You cannot let your losses consume you. You have a responsibility to do," he said more sternly, "not just for the wizarding world, but for yourself as well. You are the only one who can defeat Voldemort, Harry, and if you don't keep your mind focused, well, then... I hate to think of the outcome." 

While he listened to Lupin, Harry's face momentarily softened, and he felt his heart go out to Lupin, but then when Lupin started talking about Harry's responsibility to defeat the Dark Lord, Harry felt anger welling up inside once again. 

"You think I don't know that!" Harry yelled suddenly. "I don't need you lecturing me, trying to be the father I never had, Remus! In fact, my parents chose Sirius to be my godfather, if you'll remember correctly, not you." 

"Yes, Harry, they did choose Sirius," Lupin replied, trying to keep his voice even, but Harry's words had definitely hit Lupin hard, right through the heart. Standing up, Lupin said in nearly a whisper, "I'm sorry I bothered you, Harry. I'll just leave you alone if that's what you want. After all, I'm used to be pushed away by most people..." 

_No one wants a werewolf for a father-figure. In most people's eyes, I'll always be an outcast, a freak. I just hope Harry comes to his senses before it's too late._

Lupin took a step to walk away when he felt Harry's hand on his shoulder. 

"Wait, Remus... Stop..." 

Lupin turned around and regarded Harry carefully. 

"I didn't mean what I said," Harry said with regret. "It was wrong, very wrong, of me to say that about you. You've been... you've been so good to me, Remus, and I- I guess I'm just scared, you know? Scared of losing Sirius again... scared of losing you... my friends... and so, I try to block those thoughts out by laughing and just being with Sirius. I dunno how to explain it, but there's something about him that just makes me happy every time I see him. Maybe he's my inspiration or something... because, you know, for being imprisoned for most of his life, Sirius has got one of the lightest spirits I've ever known." 

"It's all right, Harry," Lupin replied. "Yes, there always was some sort of wonder to Sirius, but don't forget that beneath all that lightheartedness lies a man who has lived a very rough and tainted life. I know you've also seen the Sirius who is bitter and angry. There are many sides to everyone, Harry, yourself included." 

"Too many sides," Harry laughed sourly. "Sometimes I don't know what to do with all of them, and so, I just wanna laugh and forget them for a while. Guess I've been trying to forget too much for too long now." 

"Perhaps," Lupin murmured. "But you're coming round already. I knew you would." 

Lupin smiled slightly and briskly patted Harry on the shoulder. 

"Remus?" Harry asked suddenly. 

"Yes, Harry?" Lupin quipped. 

"Er," he hesitated, "would it be all right if I went to visit Sirius? I promise not to stay long, but there's... well, there's something I've been meaning to ask him." 

Lupin smiled. "Of course, Harry. Are you done with your breakfast?" 

"Yes." 

"Very well. Follow me, then." 

Harry stood up and followed Lupin out of the Great Hall and to his office, where Sirius seemed to be dozing in the portait on the wall. Grinning ruefully, Lupin announced, "You've got a visitor, Sirius! Wake up!" 

With a couple of grunts and groans, Sirius's grey eyes fluttered open and came to rest upon Harry, who was standing very close with a hesitant expression on his young face. 

"Hullo, Harry. Good to see you," Sirius said, trying to break the ice. "Er, what's up?" 

"Sirius," Harry began, taking a deep breath, "there's something I need to ask you..." 

"All right. Go on, then." 

"Have- have you ever seen my parents where- where you are?" Harry cautiously asked. 

Sirius's face slumped into a downtrodden expression. His eyes were cast away from Harry and Lupin momentarily, and then, taking a slow, deep breath, Sirius said carefully, "No, Harry. I'm afraid I've not seen them. I am sorry..." 

Harry felt his heart sink inside. He had purposefully been procrastinating in asking about his parents, having anticipated or dreaded the answer to the question he had just asked a moment ago. 

"Oh," Harry said in a very small voice. 

"I am sorry," Sirius repeated. "I- I don't know what else to say..." 

"It's not your fault, Sirius," Harry said, trying to reassure both himself and Sirius. "I had just... well, hoped... that maybe-" 

"So had I, Harry; so had I. When I first fell through the veil and found myself in this misty netherworld, I thought this was the afterlife, but everywhere I looked, I could only see faint visions in the distances, perhaps mere fathoms of my imagination... I can't be sure. Anyway, this place had a constant fog covering every square inch around my body, and I saw glimpses of what I thought were human faces and heard far-off echoes of voices that I couldn't understand, but the whole feeling of this place was so utterly lonely and full of desolation... as if there was no hope. I, of course, couldn't contain myself. I found myself wishing for any sort of means to be able to escape... or at least communicate with the world I had known, and then I recalled this portrait. With desperation, I closed my eyes and wished and imagined a way to access it, and oddly enough, although I cannot describe how it happened, I found myself looking at the wall of my mum's old attic. 

"It must have been some sort of ancient magic that transcends time and space that worked this miracle. I had thought myself free for a fleeting moment, but then I realized all too quickly that I was just looking through a portal - this very portrait - into the world of the living. I had nearly given up hope as the days, then weeks, then months passed, but then you came, Harry. You came and brought me back to life again, truly. I can't understand the complexity of this prison I'm forced to exist within, but I'm pretty damn sure I understand that I love you like a son, Harry, and I'd never, ever stop fighting for you." 

Harry felt tears prickling at the corners of his eyes, and then the tears flowed freely. Even though life was far from fair for Sirius or Lupin or Harry, they had found the only way to keep on truly living: by loving. 

"To just have you back, Sirius, even if it's only through a portrait, is worth more than anything I have ever been given," Harry said in the most sincere voice. "Thank you, Remus. Thank you, Sirius... for all you've both done for me."


	24. Chapter TwentyFour

Chapter Twenty-Four

The following morning, Harry was sitting on his bed, looking at the photo album that Hagrid had given him at the end of his first year at Hogwarts. From time to time, Harry would pull the album out of his trunk and slowly look through it and think about his parents. The last time he had gazed upon its many pictures had been when Harry had been thinking about Sirius earlier in the school year, and ever since then, it seemed the only picture Harry had been interested in was the one of Sirius in Lupin's office, but after talking with both Lupin and Sirius yesterday, Harry had realized how much he had allowed himself to stray in keeping his other relationships strong in his life. 

And then, of course, there had been Sirius's sad but all too true explanation of what he had experienced behind the veil and how he had not, in fact, had any contact whatsoever with either James or Lily Potter. Sighing heavily, Harry knew that it would have been too good to be true. He had been used to being an orphan his whole life, and even though he had found out more about his parents in the past few years, there still existed a longing within the very pit of Harry's heart, a longing that desperately needed to be filled. 

Realizing that although he couldn't pick his blood-related family, Harry knew that his friends were no doubt a sort of family, and he felt horrible for having neglected them for so long. A couple of days had already passed since Ginny and he had had their falling out in what didn't seem like much of a relationship to begin with, but Harry knew that most of that was his fault. Knowing that he couldn't go back and change what had already been done, Harry frowned, wondering if Ginny would ever forgive him for his insensitivities. Hadn't Ginny been there among his other good friends last year when he had lost Sirius? Hadn't she known first hand four years prior what it felt like to be connected directly to Voldemort? 

Harry glanced down at a picture of his parents, one taken shortly after they had gotten married. They appeared so happy, in spite of what was going on in the world all around them, but they didn't let the looming presence of the Dark Lord ruin their love they had for each other. Seeing his mother again, Harry realized just how much Ginny reminded him of her. Not only did both women have gorgeous, vibrant red hair, but Ginny, like Lily, was kind, strong, determined, understanding, and beautiful. 

Removing the picture from the photo album, Harry placed it in his pocket. He closed the album softly and securely placed it in his trunk among many other things he held valuable: his father's Invisibility Cloak, the Marauder's Map, the mirror from Sirius, his Firebolt. Then, standing up, Harry sauntered over to a mirror on the wall and examined himself. He hastily tried to comb his hair down, but it was an effort made in vain, for once again, his hair, seemingly having a mind of its own, stood up on end in every known direction. He straightened his shirt a bit, and feeling satisfied enough, headed for the common room. 

There she was. Ginny was sitting in one of the armchairs near the fireplace, intently working on some homework for Transfiguration. With O.W.L.s only a few months away, Ginny was trying to keep her study habits up, even though she knew they were a far cry from those of Hermione. There were only a few other students in the room, but they were engaged in their own work or conversations or games. Glancing around, Harry noticed that none of his other friends were around, so if he was going to try to talk to Ginny alone, this opportunity was among the best he would receive. 

Harry apprehensively walked over to where Ginny was sitting and took a seat across the table from her. Ginny noticed Harry's presence, but she didn't say anything as she lifted her gaze from the parchment in front of her to Harry's green eyes. Casting a quizzical look in Harry's direction, Ginny eyed him suspiciously. 

_What does he want?_

"Coming here to beg forgiveness?" Ginny retorted sarcastically. 

"Er, yes... actually," Harry hesitated. 

"Hmph," Ginny muttered. "And why should I forgive you?" 

"Ginny," Harry said evenly, "I'm sorry. I really am. What I did... what I said... it was all completely selfish and rude of me. I was acting like a right prat." 

"Yeah, I'd say you were," Ginny barked, "but the damage has already been done, Harry, so look, just forget it. Just forget that we ever had anything between us, 'cause, you know, I don't even think we ever really _did_ have anything special. It's obvious that your attention has been elsewhere all year, and Merlin forbid it I should dare get in the way." 

Ginny hastily reached for her books and began to pack them into her bag in a fury of emotion. Standing up, intent on returning to her room, where she knew Harry couldn't bother her, Ginny began to stalk away, but Harry was quicker. He blocked the way to the staircase and eyed her shrewdly. 

Glaring at Harry, Ginny spat, "What do you want from me, Harry? Please get out of my way!" 

"No," Harry replied, keeping his voice steady. 

"No? No! Fine, I'll just go to the library, then, if you won't move-" 

"Ginny, please," Harry practically pleaded, noticing that the other students in the room were eyeing them curiously. "Can we go someplace where we won't have an audience, at least? There's something I need to tell you, and I'd rather it be away from... well, prying ears and eyes." 

"Something to tell me in private?" Ginny whispered, feeling quite sick. "Whatever you're up to, Harry, I'll have no part of it. If it's so important, you can bloody well tell me right here." 

"All right, all right," Harry surrendered. "Just... sit down, okay?" 

Staring Harry down hard with her brown eyes, Ginny sighed loudly and threw her bag on to the floor. Sitting down in the nearest chair, Ginny said, "Well, out with it, then." 

"Ginny, I-" Harry swallowed nervously. _Why is this so difficult?!_ "I wanted to do something for you that would show you just how much... well, how much you _do_ mean to me, and since we can't exactly go to Hogsmeade or out on the grounds for a picnic with all this snow, I had to think of something else, and, well, here..." 

Harry reached into his pocket, his fingers fumbling over the picture as he grasped it, and he hesitantly handed it to Ginny, whose brow knitted in confusion, the anger leaving her face. 

"What?" she asked softly. "Harry, I don't understand. I mean, this is a picture of your parents..." 

"Yeah, I know," Harry replied, "but look at them. Don't they look happy?" 

Ginny nodded. "But what does this have to do with us?" 

"Well, everyone's always telling me how much I look like my dad and even act like him in some ways, and then today, as I looked at this picture, I realized how much you and my mum have in common. Ginny, I've been told that my mum was a sweet, beautiful, and strong woman, and in so many ways, you're just like her... all those things that she was. I dunno... maybe it sounds crazy. Hell, I don't even know if I'll live to survive this whole war-" 

"Harry..." Ginny said with concern, reaching for his arm. 

"Let's not deny it, Ginny," Harry said firmly. "It's a real possibility... but if I do survive, I dunno... I'd like very much one day to be married and have a family, and so, here's hoping. Maybe one day... one day, this might be you and me in a picture." 

Tears welled up uncontrollably in Ginny's eyes as she exclaimed, "Oh, Harry!" She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her, taking him by surprise, but a flood of relief rushed over Harry in that instant as he smiled and placed his arms around Ginny. 

For a while, they just sat there, locked in each other's embrace. Finally, reluctantly, Ginny loosened her hold just enough so she could pull her head back enough to look Harry in the eyes. Smiling, Ginny said, "You're forgiven." 

"Aw, c'mon, Moony! D'you have _any_ idea how boring it is to just hang - literally - around your office all day, especially when no one's around?" 

"Keep that up, Padfoot, and I'll say you really do sound just like a dog begging for a treat," Lupin teased, laughing and shaking his head. 

Sirius gave Lupin a pleading, innocent look, to which Lupin only chuckled harder. "Seriously, Sirius, what do you want me to do? I can't exactly lug your picture around everywhere I go." 

"No, but I seem to recall you were able to strink me down in size so I was small enough to even fit inside your pocket," Sirius taunted. "You could place me inside your briefcase, and I swear I'll keep quiet. It'd be... interesting... to actually sit in on one of your classes, and seeing as I've never gotten the opportunity to see you teach, which still is a shock to me (although not as much as it was finding out about Snivellus being a professor), this would be the next best thing." 

"All right, all right," Lupin agreed. "But you've got to promise not to cause any distractions, got it?" 

"Got it." 

With a wink, Sirius's portrait was shrunken down and placed inside Lupin's briefcase, and for the next few days, Sirius had the delightful experience of being a part of every Defense Against the Dark Arts class that Lupin taught, which was all of them, of course. Sirius had to stifle a laugh on several occasions when students answered questions wrong that seemed easy enough for a toddler to answer or when they apparently had "an accident" whilst performing a spell that was _supposed_ to be protecting them from some sort of Dark Magic, not contributing further to harming the student-made-victim. Every night, Lupin would return Sirius's portrait to its normal size and place it back on the wall, especially if Harry was coming for a visit. All the while, Lupin and Sirius kept what they were doing between them. 

Before anyone knew it, March had come. The days were growing slightly longer and warmer, and instead of snow to contend with, freezing rain and chilly, foggy days filled the air. As was a part of every month, Lupin had his transformation to undergo. He had gotten the Wolfsbane potion from Snape a couple of days beforehand, and since Lupin knew he wouldn't be able to teach his classes, he was entrusting them to the Potions Master yet again. 

"You'll find all my lesson plans in my briefcase," Lupin explained in his office one evening as Snape brought the potion to him. 

"That will suffice," Snape said, smirking, "and as long as you haven't been engaging the students in casting the _Riddikulus_ spell on any boggarts that bear a resemblance to yours truly, then I will not assign any homework assignments on werewolves." 

Picking the goblet up that contained the potion, Lupin drank it down as quickly as he possibly could, making a face at the awful taste. 

"Agreed," Lupin replied, still trying to get the taste out of his mouth, "but you still manage to get your jollies by giving me this horrid-tasting concoction every month." 

"You realize that sugar renders it useless, Lupin; you know this," Snape scowled. 

Shaking his head and grinning, Lupin remarked, "Is all humor truly lost on you, Severus? Really, it was only a joke." 

"I was not aware that I had come to your office to engage in such frivolities, Lupin," Snape drawled, "but since you are so inviting with such things, perhaps I shall assign homework on werewolves after all." 

Lupin eyed Snape for a moment, not sure whether the Potions Master was being serious or not, for Snape's impassive face betrayed nothing. Finally, Lupin decided to simply give up. 

"Well, as fun as this all has been," began Lupin, "I really ought to retire for the evening. It grows late." 

"Indeed," Snape replied, nodding and standing up. "Good night, then." 

Snape left the office, and Lupin, feeling quite tired all of a sudden, left as well, forgetting to return Sirius's portrait to the wall that night. 

The next morning, Lupin was feeling none too well, and even though he had not yet undergone the transformation that was bound to happen that night, he knew he would have to spend the day in his chambers, resting. Meanwhile, Snape entered Lupin's office to collect the briefcase with all the lesson plans inside them. The first class of the day was with the sixth years. 

As they entered the classroom and took their seats, Harry murmured to Ron and Hermione that Lupin probably would not be in class today, seeing as the time of month it was. Harry was glad to have his friends back, even though they had reassured him a couple of weeks ago that he had never really lost them, but Harry still felt like he had found something precious that he had missed for a while. Thankful enough that his classes seemed to be running smoothly, including Potions, and that he was on good terms with everyone again, Harry found that he didn't mind so much that Snape would be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. When he had told Ron so, the red-haired boy exclaimed, "What are you? Mental?" 

Now, Harry was simply smirking at Ron's apparent discomfort. Then Snape entered the classroom. Everyone stopped talking immediately and gave their full attention to Snape as he began to explain the lesson plan for that day. 

"You will be learning how to block yourselves against many types of hexes," Snape lectured evenly, "although I recommend that you keep the hexes simple enough at first, so less... experienced... students can get a handle of the blocking spells." 

Snape cast a glare in Neville's direction upon saying the last part. From within the confines of the briefcase, Sirius knew that his ears weren't deceiving him. _What's Snape trying to prove by intimidating the students like that?_

Before he could stop himself, Sirius blurted out, "If Remus heard you now, Snivellus-" 

Snape immediately heard a muffled voice coming from within the briefcase. 

_What the hell?_ he thought, while at the same time, Harry thought, _Sirius?!_

The students near the front had also apparently heard and were gazing at the briefcase and Snape curiously. 

"There's nothing to see here!" Snape barked, clearly annoyed. "Go! Practice!" 

Hoping to shoo the majority of the students away, Snape grabbed the briefcase and muttered, "Silencio!" 

Opening it up, Snape soon found the small picture of Sirius behind a few papers. Smirking, Snape whispered to the struggling Sirius, "And you thought you'd have a little fun at my expense, did you, Black?" 

The whole time, Harry had been listening. Even though he was pretending to practice with Ron, he knew that it had to have been Sirius's voice he had heard just moments before. Finally, he couldn't stand it any longer. Going up to the front of the classroom, Harry demanded, "What's going on?" 

"Potter, return to the lesson," Snape said tersely, closing the briefcase. 

"No," Harry replied. "I know who's in there... What are you playing at, _sir_?" 

"I'll have you know, Potter, that this was not my doing," Snape sneered. "Why would I place your beloved godfather's accursed portrait in the briefcase I would be using? I couldn't stand him when he was alive. You certainly don't think I would want to be in his presence now that he is dead." 

"You-" Harry paused, very upset, "you don't stop, do you? You realize he can hear everything you're saying?" 

"Potter, this conversation is over. Return to your lesson." 

Glaring at Snape, Harry turned away and reluctantly returned to the lesson. The class managed to pass eventually, and by the end of it, Harry was once again on the verge of hating Snape. It seemed to come naturally, after all. 

As Harry made to leave with his friends, something inside suddenly tugged him back. He wanted - no, _needed_ - to find out what was going on and find a way to help Sirius. 

"I'll be along shortly," Harry told Ron and Hermione. 

They quickly nodded and left, leaving Harry standing near the doorway. While Snape was busy collecting pieces of parchment and organizing for the next class, he glanced up and noticed Harry. 

"Don't you have a class to be going to, Potter?" 

"Not quite yet," Harry said, walking toward Snape. "I want to know why Sirius is in Re- er, Professor Lupin's briefcase." 

"I don't know, and it is hardly my business to inquire," Snape replied. "Why don't you ask him once he is well again? And why must you always challenge authority, Potter?" 

Harry eyed Snape evenly. "It is mostly just your authority, sir." 

"Five points from Gryffindor for your cheek, Potter," Snape muttered. "If you persist in bothering me, it was still fifty." 

Shaking his head, Harry walked away. From the door, he said, "You realize, Professor, that you would actually make a good teacher if you would only answer your students' questions sometimes." 

Harry walked out of the room, leaving Snape staring at the empty doorway. Empty... just the way he had to act practically all the time. Emotionless. A void of a man. A shadow of a living soul. 

Unlocking the briefcase, Snape released Sirius from the Silencing Spell, and upon Sirius's initial protests and name-calling, Snape was very tempted to replace the charm. 

"Would you be quiet for just one moment?!" Snape barked at Sirius's picture. 

Frowning, Sirius stopped talking and gave him a look that clearly said, "Well?" 

"The boy defends you to a fault," Snape muttered. "I should say it's pathetic, but truly, he displays unconditional loyalty. He will need that to win this war." 

Sirius nodded and remarked, "That's probably the wisest thing you've ever said, Snape." 

"Perhaps, but... then again, I'm not the one locked in the dark," Snape smirked, closing the briefcase as the next class began to filter into the room. 

"Keep quiet, and I won't use the charm again," Snape whispered silkily, quite enjoying this and feeling a sense of victory when he heard no reply from within the confines of the briefcase.


	25. Chapter TwentyFive

Chapter Twenty-Five

Strange. 

It was strange that four months had passed with nary a summon from the Dark Lord... and it was unnerving as hell to say the least. Day upon day that passed meshed into week after week that passed just as quickly and eventlessly, and all the while, a feeling of foreboding grew in the suppressed subconscious part of Snape's mind. As he looked out the window from the Headmaster's office that fine spring day, he couldn't help but to feel uneasy over the whole situation... or lack thereof. What was the Dark Lord planning? Was he merely biding his time, or had something been found out, something that Snape didn't know, and thus couldn't tell the Order? 

"Sherbert lemon?" Dumbledore's persistently benevolent voice inquired, bringing an end to Snape's contemplations. 

Whirling around, his black robes swishing to the side in the typical eloquence of the Potions Master's every move, Snape glowered at Dumbledore. Without a single word or even a non-commital noise, he strode across the room and sat down in one of the armchairs near the fireplace. Over the years, it would seem that Dumbledore had never once grown tired of the same repetitive meetings with the Potions Master, but Snape, on the other hand, felt he had rolled his black eyes one too many times at the Headmaster's attempts to keep their frequent meetings conserved to the same normalcy, if one could call anything Dumbledore did normal, time and again. 

Dumbledore took the seat opposite of Snape and asked, "Am I to assume, then, that there has been no word?" 

"Don't you think I would have told you if there had been, Albus?" Snape sneered. 

"Well, of course, my boy," Dumbledore acquiesced, "but it never hurts to ask." 

Risking a glance at the old codger's face, Snape's scowl deepened. _How can he be so damned cheery at a time like this?_

"Indeed, Headmaster," Snape murmured sourly. 

Sighing, Dumbledore said, "Well?" 

Finally, Snape had had enough of Dumbledore's innocent tone that harbored a very pressing undertone. He had not even bothered to take a sip of the proffered cup of tea that had been methodically placed in front of him upon his arrival, and he was already in a testy mood. The students had started to get what all the professors referred to as the "spring jitters," and so, they were even more intolerable during the spring time as the end of the year grew nearer and nearer than they were during any other time of the year. 

"Well, what?!" Snape exclaimed, standing up, furrowing his eyebrows. "What is it you want me to say, Headmaster, that will somehow put your mind at ease? He clearly stated last summer that there would be more deaths... and he would start with those closest to Harry Potter. Well, there have been more deaths, but many of them have been on families of Muggle-borns and Half-bloods. There is truly no clear pattern, and I have not received any word since December as to what he is planning. I realize as much as you do that the end of the school year is quickly coming upon us, and as is usual, there will most likely be an attack at that time. Your guess is as good as mine, Albus." 

During his outburst, Snape had started pacing the room. It pained Dumbledore to no end to see the younger man in such a state, for he had seen similar outrages many times before from Snape, but that never changed anything. Unable to stand watching such a thing, Dumbledore said calmly, "Please, sit down, Severus." 

Casting an irate glare in the Headmaster's direction, Snape returned to his seat and slumped into the chair. 

"My mind is hardly at ease, Severus," Dumbledore continued wearily. "We will have to arrange for an Order meeting very soon, though. My suspicions regarding the Ministry's involvement - or lack thereof - in this whole war are growing by the day. Luckily for us, elections are next month. I, for one, would like to see a Minister appointed who will assist the Order, not one who first denies everything we stand for and then goes on to do absolutely nothing, despite the fact that he has seen Voldemort with his own two eyes." 

Snape visibly cringed upon hearing Voldemort's name uttered from Dumbledore's aged mouth, but he was too tired to correct the Headmaster. It seemed that Dumbledore's tongue oftentimes slipped when speaking of the Dark Lord in front of Snape, and sometimes Snape wondered if Dumbledore did so on purpose, for every time he heard the foul name of Voldemort mentioned, it only served as a further reminder to Snape of his past actions, of which he was utterly ashamed. 

"You and I both know, Albus, that there are other... questionable individuals working at the Ministry. Lucius Malfoy was not the only one, and I must say that it is surprising that he has been kept in Azkaban as long as he has without the Dementors acting as guards," Snape muttered, shaking his head. 

"Indeed," Dumbledore murmured quietly, shaking his head slowly. "Well, that is enough for now, I suppose." 

Nodding, Snape stood up and left the Headmaster's office. Retreating to his chambers, he proceeded to undertake the unpleasant task of grading the papers of incompetent students who didn't seem to care a bit about the fine art that was potion-making. 

"This totally stinks," Ron complained vehemently as he sunk back into one of the deep armchairs in the Gryffindor common room. 

"Yeah, tell me about it," Harry mumbled. "Six months and no visits to Hogsmeade." 

"Well," Hermione said knowingly, "it's only for our safely, you know. Even with extra Aurors stationed in the village, it would be far too risky to allow students to wander through the streets." 

"You sound just like McGonagall," Ron muttered, to which Hermione just rolled her eyes. 

"Well," Ginny said, "at least the weather's nice again." 

"Yeah," Ron grumbled, "and all the more reason we should be doing something instead of just moping about like a bunch of useless..." 

"Oh, Ron!" Hermione exclaimed, playfully shoving him. "You shouldn't complain so much! There's still the grounds-" 

"Hey!" Ron laughed. "Stop it!" 

Hermione suddenly jumped out of her seat and tackled Ron, pinning him to the back of the chair. Harry glanced at Ginny questioningly, quite surprised at the display in front of them. Ginny just smiled back at Harry as if she knew something he didn't. 

"Er," Harry said. "Not to interrupt your... playtime, but what's this all about?" 

"Are you really so clueless, Harry?" Hermione asked. Then, she frowned, remembering how clueless Harry had been indeed for several months on end until recently. 

Harry felt a bit taken aback by Hermione's comment and frowned. Defensively, he replied, "Hey, I told you I was sorry a couple of months ago-" 

"I know; I know!" Hermione exclaimed. "Harry, I didn't mean it that way. I was just teasing..." 

"Oh," Harry said dumbly. 

"Do you want to tell him, Ron?" Hermione whispered, smiling, to Ron. 

"Sure, 'Mione," Ron smiled back. Facing Harry, Ron said, "Well, we're kind of... going out." 

"Kind of?" Hermione implored, glaring mockingly at Ron. 

Flushing a deep shade of red, Ron amended, "All right, we're going out." 

"Really?" Harry asked. "Wow, that's... that's great, guys. How long has this been going on, and, er, why didn't you tell me sooner?" 

Here, Ginny interjected, "Oh, Harry, don't take it like that. We just thought it would be best for you to find out on your own. I mean-" 

_My two best friends have been going steady, and I didn't even know about it?_ Harry thought, suddenly feeling really guilty. 

"It's been for most of the year, actually," Hermione explained, "although it's gradually gotten more... serious." 

"Yeah, pretty much," Ron agreed, his eyes back on Hermione. 

"Wow... well..." Harry said a bit awkwardly, "I'm happy for you both. Truly." 

Harry managed a small smile and stood up, something feeling not quite right inside. 

"I, uh... I need to go study," Harry lied. 

"Sure thing, mate," Ron said easily enough, his attention still very much on Hermione. Ginny merely frowned at Harry's retreating form, but she made no effort to stop him. 

As Harry left his friends, he realized yet again how different he felt from them. For years, it had always been the three of them, and they had all been best friends, but then, last year, their group had grown to include Ginny, Neville, and Luna to an extent. Now, things were changing. It was true that Harry had feelings for Ginny and vise-versa, but this seemingly new development was unnerving to Harry. It was strange seeing Ron and Hermione acting so... in love. Even though he knew that he had Ginny, Harry still oftentimes felt awkward and unsure of himself when it came to matters of the heart. A part of him felt hurt and betrayed that neither Ron nor Hermione had shared any of their thoughts with him regarding their falling for each other. Maybe it would have been too awkward, too weird, but all the same, Harry couldn't help how he felt. Realizing his own guilt, Harry knew that he hadn't told them much as far as his thoughts were concerned, either, and then, for the first time in years, Harry wondered if his friends and he were growing apart instead of closer. 

All these thoughts made him realize that he needed desperately to do something to try to prove to Ginny, at least, that he loved her. If Ron and Hermione were going to be so head-over-heels in love, then Harry knew it only made sense that he feel the same way about Ginny, right? At least that was what his sixteen-year-old mind reckoned. 

And who better to see for advice on matters of the heart than Sirius. 

Later that day, Harry was in Lupin's office. While Lupin was meeting with Dumbledore to discuss some things involving the class or whatnot, Harry had free access to his office, and he didn't need to worry about disrupting Lupin while he was trying to work. 

"I want to do something special for her," Harry simply stated, looking Sirius squarely in the eyes. 

Sirius was surprised at the seriousness in Harry's tone, for even though he knew of Harry's relationship with Ginny, he didn't know it was this serious. 

"Wow, Harry," Sirius remarked in awe. "What brought this on all of a sudden?" 

Harry shrugged his shoulders, feigning innocence on the manner, but Sirius knew better. 

"Oh, no, you're not fooling me that easy, Harry," Sirius taunted. "Come on, you can tell me." 

"Well," Harry sighed, "it's Ron and Hermione... They're kind of - no, they are - going out. It's just really, I dunno, weird, you know?" 

"Hmmm," Sirius reflected, thinking back to his days as a teenager. "Well, it's hardly unusual for two young people to go for each other when there's a mutual attraction. See, there was always competition between your father and myself over which one of us could find the most attractive woman..." 

Harry snorted. "Oh, really?" 

"Really," Sirius said haughtily. "Well, young man, if you wanna take the lady to a really nice spot to just, you know, get away, then I suggest the hilly area just outside of the village. There are lots of trees, so it's really quite hidden and secluded-" 

"And completely off limits," Harry scowled. 

"Oh, come off it, Harry. I know you're technically supposed to stay in Hogsmeade during any trip there, but students sneak off to the surrounding areas all the time." 

"No, it's not that, Sirius... Don't you remember? We can't visit Hogsmeade at all, not after-" 

"Oh... right," Sirius replied slowly, realization striking him over what Harry had told him had occurred in Hogsmeade back in the fall. "Well, still... surely you've got your Invisibility Cloak and the Marauder's Map, right?" 

"I dunno, Sirius..." Harry shook his head. "Too risky..." 

Shrugging, Sirius said, "Yeah... it's your call, Harry. I guess times aren't like they were when I was young. Still, it's a real shame you can't give your lady a nice outing..." 

"What's so remarkable about this place, anyway?" Harry inquired curiously. 

"Well, let me tell you," Sirius said knowingly. "I was dating a fellow Gryffindor... a year younger than me - or was it two? Anyway, her name was Laura Williams. Most gorgeous eyes I've ever seen... Well, it was just the two of us that day, and, Harry, trust me when I say that we had the place to ourselves the whole day... no teachers catching us and deducting house points, no other students getting in the way - oh, wait..." 

"What?" Harry asked, wondering why Sirius had suddenly stopped. 

"Are you sure you really want to know, Harry?" Sirius countered. 

"Well, you started telling me this story, and now I wanna know how it ends," Harry replied a bit impatiently, his green eyes fixed on Sirius. 

"All right, fine," Sirius sighed, "but don't say I didn't warn you. Well, there we were, enjoying ourselves immensely, and suddenly, I thought I heard a familiar voice..." 

_"Lily?!" Sirius called out, standing up. _

Laura frowned at Sirius, trying to pull him back down to the ground, where she was sitting on a blanket. 

"Just a sec," Sirius said, distracted. 

Laura frowned at him and crossed her arms impatiently over the front of her body. Sirius began walking in the direction of what he was sure was Lily's voice. Then, he saw her. 

Sirius stopped, gaping in utter disgust at the scene before him. 

"Oh, Severus," Lily purred, smiling. "You really shouldn't-" 

"I shouldn't what?" Severus teased, returning the smile. Bringing his slender hand to her chin, he gently lifted her face until they were gazing into each other's eyes at the same level. "Do this?" he asked softly, bringing his lips to hers in a sweet kiss. 

Lily leaned into the kiss and brought her arms around his neck, pulling him closer. Suddenly, the kiss was broken, and Severus found himself being pinned to the ground by a stronger and bigger man. And then, before he could even react, he felt a nauseating pain in the middle of his face and felt a wet warmth trickling down, covering his lips. Blood. 

"You worthless, greasy git!" Sirius bellowed at Severus, his hands fisted and his arms raised. "You keep your disgusting Slytherin hands - and mouth - off her!" 

Bringing his hand to his face, Severus realized that his nose was bleeding profusely. It had probably been broken. A rush of adrenaline combined with rage coursed through his veins as he reached for his wand and pointed it directly at Sirius. 

Then, Lily came between them. 

"Stop it!" she cried, tears pouring from her eyes. "Please!" she begged. 

"Move out of the way, Lily!" Sirius yelled. "Snivellus needs to learn a thing or two about-" 

"No!" Lily pleaded. Then, facing Sirius squarely and fixing him with a hateful glare, Lily spat, "Just leave him alone already! Don't you ever give up? You and James..." 

Sirius didn't say a word, but before he left, Severus turned on his heel and ran off. 

"Severus!" Lily called desperately after his retreating form, but it was too late... 

"And that's what happened," Sirius frowned. "Geez, Harry, I didn't want to tell you about that, but since you asked..." 

"My mum and... Snape?" Harry asked incredulously. "But..." 

Shaking his head, Sirius said, "We were young. What can I say? I'm not proud of what I did, Harry, but it's the truth. Doesn't mean I can stand that git any more now, but-" 

"But you know it was wrong," Harry finished. 

"Yes," Sirius sighed. "Look, Harry, your mum was a great woman... really kind and understanding. It looks like you've found yourself a great young lady just like her in so many ways. Do something special for her." 

Nodding, Harry stood up from his seat and said, "Thanks, Sirius... I guess I ought to be getting back to the common room now." 

Sirius wished him goodbye, and as Harry left Lupin's office, he couldn't get the thought of Snape and his mother out of his mind. If someone had told him such a thing just a few months prior, Harry would have been disgusted as well, for, like most people, Harry would have wondered how anyone could ever kiss someone like Snape, but Harry had since then come to realize that Snape was just a man, a man who had strengths and weaknesses like everyone else. 

And there he was... walking in the opposite direction past Harry. 

"Professor," Harry called out. 

Caught by surprise, Snape stopped mid-stride. "Potter?" 

_What am I doing?_ Harry asked himself. 

Snape raised an inquiring eyebrow at Harry as the boy simply stood there, staring at him. "Well? Was there a reason for stopping me, Potter, or did you just think it funny to-" 

"No, sir," Harry interrupted quickly, which made Snape scowl. "I mean... Why didn't you ever tell me about-" 

"About what?" Snape spat, growing impatient. 

"About my mother?" 

Whatever Snape thought Harry was going to ask him, that was the last thing he thought his ears would hear. 

"What about your mother?" Snape sneered. 

"You and her... together," Harry said simply. 

Paling even more than usual, Snape said in a dangerously low voice, "And what, pray, are you referring to?" 

"Sir, I know, all right? Don't pretend like you never-" 

"Oh, you know, do you, Potter?" Snape said sarcastically. "And are you proud to rub it in? I suppose you heard from either your beloved godfather or your werewolf friend. No doubt they told you how... revolting... it must have been, knowing that the perfect Lily Evans was in love with the likes of me, but not really in love, of course... more just taking pity..." 

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself!" Harry exclaimed exasperately. "No, for your information, Snape, Sirius simply told me what happened one day when he found the two of you together in the hills outside of Hogsmeade, and, to be honest, he isn't proud of what he did to you, all right?" 

Snape snorted in complete disbelief. 

"And for the record, sir," Harry said evenly, "I don't think it was revolting. From what people've told me about my mum, they say she was a very kind person-" 

"Yes, kind even to the likes of me," Snape whispered, staring off in the distance, a far-off look haunting his dark eyes. 

Awe-struck, Harry just stared at the man who he had for so long labelled as horrible, mean, cruel, and so many other vile things. Yes, Snape was just a man, and it was quite apparent that he had feelings just like everyone else. 

That moment was cut short, though, when a searing pain burned on Snape's left forearm. Clutching his arm convulsively, Snape swept down the hallway to the dungeons to gather his robe and mask for the meeting. As Harry was left standing there, he, too, was snapped out of his brief daze and felt slapped in the forehead with the burning of his scar. 

Voldemort was calling.


	26. Chapter TwentySix

Chapter Twenty-Six

Voldemort was calling. 

Snape rushed down to the dungeons and grabbed his Death Eater cloak and mask and quickly made his way out a little-used passageway that went from the dungeons to the grounds outside. He was used to this routine, but that still didn't make it any less tiring to have to dash to his chamber first to retrieve the necessary items and then proceed to run across the grounds of Hogwarts at top speed, just as he was doing presently. Once making it just beyond the borders of Hogwarts' grounds, Snape immediately apparated to the place where the meeting was being held. 

Part of the excitement of such meetings was suddenly appearing on location and looking around to see where he was exactly. This time, as Snape's dark eyes glanced around him upon his re-appearance, he noticed that they were in some sort of cave. The ceiling was a few mere inches above the heads of the other Death Eaters who had gathered there, and the walls on either side couldn't have been more than twelve feet apart. A few dimly lit torches were floating in the air here or there, more or less forming a circle, enclosing everyone who was present. 

Deep shadows danced across the forms of the darkly-clad men, whose white masks betrayed nothing. Slight mutterings exchanged between the Death Eaters echoed off the cave walls, and all the while, calmly breathing in the cool, musky air, Snape kept his composure indifferent. No one would have known that just a few moments prior he had been in a conversation with Harry Potter that had managed to surface long-buried emotions. 

Then came the all-too-familiar voice of Voldemort, breaking Snape out of his brief reverie. 

"Welcome, my minions," his cold, high-pitched voice hissed. "Tonight is a special night... very special, indeed, for tonight marks the initiation of our newest recruits." 

Silence loomed in the air, for no one dared to speak unless the Dark Lord commanded him to do so. A twisted, ugly smile forming across his pale, reptilian face, Voldemort continued, "And so, before we start with the new business, you shall all witness the initiation ceremony, which I am proud to carry out, knowing that our forces are growing ever stronger in hopes of one day very soon proclaiming our right to rid the world of all Mudbloods and Muggles and create a world where purity of blood rules." 

If Snape had been anywhere else but in the presence of Voldemort, he would have rolled his eyes and sneered, for the Dark Lord's speeches and ideas had long ago grown old to him. He oftentimes wondered how anyone could be so obsessed with something and questioned how others could be foolish enough to follow it for so long. Of course, he knew full well of their evil intentions and blackness of heart, but the pure monotony of old ideas that had been recycled far too many times should have been enough to drive anyone insane. Maybe that explained the mind-set of the Death Eaters fairly accurately after all. 

Focusing his attention back on the Dark Lord, Snape heard a name he was not surprised in the least to hear uttered from Voldemort's nearly non-existent lips one day: "Draco Malfoy." 

From behind the others, a somewhat nervous-looking Draco Malfoy stepped forward. His pale features appeared even more washed out against the black robes all around him and the one he was wearing. Unlike the others, his hood was down and he donned no mask... yet. 

"Yes, come forward, young one," Voldemort said in a quiet hiss. "You are about to become a part of one of the most revered and honorable organizations, young Malfoy." 

Draco hesitantly continued to edge his way forward toward the Dark Lord, his eyes seemingly locked on that looming figure in front of him. Nodding, he eventually came to a stop a couple of feet from Voldemort. 

"Now, bow down on one knee and hold out your left arm to me, young Malfoy," Voldemort instructed. 

Draco followed Voldemort's directions without a spoken word, and once his exposed, presently bare forearm was in the correct position, the Dark Lord took his wand and brought its tip to the place on Draco's inner forearm just below the crook of the elbow and murmured something incoherent to the ears of all present, including Draco. An eerie, glowing green skull and snake, the emblem of the Dark Lord, appeared in midair in front of Draco's surprised face, its glow reflecting off his dilated pupils. It lingered momentarily and then drew itself into a singular pinpoint of bright green, which then darted onto his forearm, causing his whole being to tingle. If he had been expecting the casting of the Dark Mark to hurt, Draco didn't betray any emotion on his face. There was only a brief burning sensation on his forearm, and then the greenish light quickly died away, leaving a black mark upon him. 

"Rise," Voldemort commanded, to which Draco immediately obeyed, and then the Dark Lord said, "You are now officially a part of my loyal Death Eaters, young Malfoy, and as a welcome gift, here he is." 

Wondering who "he" was, Draco lifted his eyes and turned his head just slightly to the left of the Dark Lord, and one of the blackly-clad figures stepped past the Dark Lord and slowly removed his mask. 

Draco couldn't help the small gasp that came forth from his mouth. 

"F- Father?" he stuttered. 

The senior Malfoy nodded, a smirk on his face. "Are you really so surprised, lad?" he asked smugly. 

"But I thought-" 

Here, Voldemort interrupted, "Although Malfoy Senior was careless enough to be captured last year, I have seen personally to his release from Azkaban. Malfoy," Voldemort directly addressed Lucius, "consider yourself fortunate. Had you not displayed such strong loyalty to me over the years, I would have soon just left you to rot in Azkaban." 

"I thank you, my Lord," Lucius murmured impassively. 

"Good, then," Voldemort said smoothly. "Now," he barked, changing his tone of voice dramatically, "both of you, step back into your places. We have much work to do before the night is through." 

Both Malfoys nodded their quick understanding and joined the other Death Eaters, and now Draco's face was covered with a white mask. The rest of the new recruits were initiated, among which were the younger Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott, which was hardly surprising to Snape. As was usual, most of Slytherin turned to the Dark Side during the war. 

Once the initiation was over, Voldemort began to speak of his plans for the advancement of their cause. 

"First, as I am quite sure you all may have guessed, any of my followers who so foolishly were imprisoned within the walls of Azkaban anytime within the past year have now been set free yet again... much to the dismay of the Ministry and the Aurors they had placed there. With the Dementors on our side, we have a definite advantage over both the Ministry and Dumbledore and his petty followers. I am pleased to note that there have been several successful raids and many Muggles and Mudbloods have been done away with permanently. However-" 

Here, Voldemort paused, glaring about the cave at all his followers, his red eyes glowing, piercing them all with his utter evil that penetrated to the very core of his black heart. 

"However," he resumed, "I am very disappointed, to say the least, that we have not struck where it really matters most: Hogwarts. Harry Potter remains a threat to this day, and I can tell that the boy has no doubt grown stronger. Many of my attempts at entering the boy's mind have been blocked, and if I am not mistaken, I believe he isn't even aware of my attempts to penetrate his very thoughts. Now that we have several members who are fellow students of Potter, though, I am hoping - no, demanding - that action be taken against that wretched boy." 

Glowering at Draco and the other Hogwarts students, Voldemort hissed vehemently, "You have all taken the Mark and as such have sworn your allegiance to me and everything I stand for. Do not disappoint me, my children. If you succeed in bringing down Harry Potter, the rewards will be many and will be great, but if you so happen to fail me, well... let us just say that we will not fail, correct?" 

Nodding, the young Slytherins had no choice by the agree. 

"Good," Voldemort cooed malevolently. "Now, Snape... tell me, what have you to report?" 

Taking a step forward, Snape said in a tone of voice that lacked any sort of feeling, "You have been correct in your assumptions about the boy, my Lord. Potter is unfortunately growing stronger, no doubt as a result of that doddering old fool Dumbledore. Many of his attempts at providing protection against attacks on the Muggles and Mudbloods have been easily overcome by your followers, and I believe Dumbledore and his followers remain in the dark, as it were." 

"Indeed," Voldemort hissed, eyeing Snape carefully. 

After a few moments, he relented and dismissed the Death Eaters. 

The evening grew late, and then it was fully night. All the while, Harry paced the long corridors, wondering how much longer it would be until Snape returned from the Death Eater meeting. It was clear to Harry from the earlier jolts of pain that had shot through his scar that Voldemort was excited and eager about something, although Harry didn't know what. While Harry had blocked Voldemort from entering his mind, it would seem that the opposite had been true as well, for Harry no longer had any clear visions of what the Dark Lord was doing, but, of course, this also meant he would not be fooled like he had at the end of his fifth year when Voldemort had tricked Harry with the vision of him tormenting Sirius. 

Now, Harry stood near the front doors, just outside the castle. A cool spring breeze blew gently, rustling Harry's hair a bit, and as he looked out over the grounds, everything appeared so calm and placid. Shaking his head, Harry knew this was far from the truth. He was anxious to know what had occurred during that meeting, especially since it had been several months since there had been one held. 

Finally, Harry noticed a dark figure walking quickly across the grounds, coming directly toward him. Harry placed his hand on his wand, just in case it was not Snape and was an uninvited visitor instead. As the figure drew nearer, Harry withdrew his hand from his wand, for now he could see the pale, frowning face of the Potions Master. 

Snape saw Harry as well. Sighing in annoyance, Snape knew that Harry would immediately start asking him question after question, very much to his dismay. Groaning inwardly, Snape ascended the stairs to the main entrance and gazed upon Harry with a raised eyebrow. 

The first words that came from Harry's mouth were not the ones Snape was expecting. 

"You look tired, sir. Are you all right?" 

Pausing in his tracks, Snape looked pointedly at Harry before replying tersely, "Of course I'm tired, Potter. If you had just spent the last several hours in the Dark Lord's presence, you would feel much the same way, so no, I would have to say that I am not 'all right,' as you put it." 

Frowning, Harry mumbled, "Sorry I asked. Well, what happened, then? What have you found out? What's he planning?" 

Alas, the questions. 

"You will find out everything soon enough, Potter," Snape scowled. "As for now, I must report to the Headmaster, and no doubt he will make the necessary arrangements for an Order meeting that will probably be scheduled for tomorrow evening. You can wait until then. Now, if you will kindly leave me in peace..." 

"Fine," Harry muttered, clearly displeased and irritated. He figured something akin to this would happen. "Thanks for nothing, Snape." 

Harry turned and practically ran away before Snape could formulate a response. Snape, however, had more important things to worry about at the moment than whether or not Harry was happy. He entered the castle and proceeded to Dumbledore's office, where he gave a full account of what had occurred during the course of the Death Eater meeting. Of gravest concern, however, were Draco and the other new members. 

"You do realize, Albus, that there are now several Death Eaters, albeit inexperienced ones, residing within the walls of Hogwarts," Snape said vehemently. 

Stroking his beard, Dumbledore murmured, "Yes, yes, Severus, I am well aware of that fact. They are also students, though. Back when you attended Hogwarts, we faced a similar problem, but we managed to keep it under control. They have barely come of age at only seventeen years, and we can still work to try and turn them around to the side of light." 

"Your hope is pointless," Snape replied in a very irritated voice. "Back in my days as a student, Harry Potter wasn't a factor." 

"That is true," Dumbledore agreed. "Well, we shall have to take extra precautions, then. There are not many weeks left of this school year, fortunately, and as long as the students remain within the walls of Hogwarts, they shall remain safe. Even as Death Eaters, Mr. Malfoy and his friends cannot do anything serious within these walls or on these grounds. The wards prevent it." 

"And if they were to leave the grounds?" Snape implored. 

"I will personally see to it that the present wards are strengthened. The only time they shall be permitted to leave the grounds will be if they are summoned by the Dark Lord himself. Then, they truly would have no choice in the matter." 

"This is absolutely absurd, Albus!" Snape exclaimed. 

"There is always hope, my boy," Dumbledore said quietly. "Unfortunately, I was unable to reach young Tom, but you, on the other hand, you are living proof that people can change." 

Driven to silence, Snape warily nodded. 

"The Order meeting will be tomorrow evening," the Headmaster added matter-of-factly. "We will notify everyone of the latest news at that time." 

"Very well," Snape grumbled. Standing up, he muttered a quick "good night" and left the Headmaster's office. 

After returning the "good night" to Snape, Dumbledore glanced at Fawkes. The phoenix sang softly, soothing the aged wizard's worries. Stroking the bird gently, Dumbledore murmured, "There is always hope... There is always hope..." 

Outside, the night remained peaceful and seemingly eventless, and to any onlooker from afar, Hogwarts would appear a stately, impressive structure imposed against the background of stars and nightsky. The lake's surface rippled gently, and the newly formed leaves rustled on the countless trees in harmony. How far from the truth such a beautiful scene was, for the world was unsettled and in danger.


	27. Chapter TwentySeven

A Reflection of Himself, Chapter Twenty-Seven 

Chapter Twenty-Seven

Harry's sleep was restless that night. While the other boys slept peacefully and soundly in their beds in the dormitory, Harry tossed and turned, rolling from his right side to his back and then to his left side and then back on his right. He had lain in his four-poster for close to two hours before falling asleep, but it was difficult to stay asleep for more than an hour. 

Now poor Harry found himself awake in the early hours of the morning when the world was covered in complete darkness. He rubbed at his eyes furiously and sat up, reaching for his glasses. Although it was spring, the nights were still on the cold side, but he slipped his feet into his slippers and sauntered over to the nearest window, where he sat down on the ledge and peered out over the quiet grounds. The sky was overcast with clouds, and Harry idly wondered if it would start to rain soon. 

His insides roiled in anguish, for Harry found himself unable to find peace. He wanted - no, _needed_ - to know what Snape had found out at the Death Eater meeting, but the Potions Master had been too stubborn to tell him. Harry scowled at the unfairness of being kept in the dark on matters that he felt he had the right to know before most people, with perhaps the exception of Albus Dumbledore. He recalled Snape telling him that he would find out soon enough at the Order meeting, which was to be held tonight, but that thought didn't quell Harry's apprehension. 

At times, he still felt the anger he had last year when he had thought Sirius was gone forever. He was mad at himself more than anything at the time, his own guilt practically eating him alive, but he had blamed everyone else at the time. The pain, the realization, the responsibility, the burden that he had to carry as the rest of the world's savior was too much, especially for one so young. He hadn't asked for it. He didn't want it. 

But he had no choice. 

And so, as the end to another school year approached, Harry found himself wondering by what means Voldemort would wreak havoc upon innocents, and all he wanted to do was scream. 

He didn't want to be special, not if this was the price he had to pay. 

Harry arrived at Number 12, Grimmauld Place with Lupin and Sirius's portrait. Sirius grimaced upon seeing the house he grew up in, but at least some good had come out of its existence. It was a safe and secure place to hold Order meetings, and as Sirius had pointed out nearly two years ago, it was something useful he could do for the Order. Every time he was brought back there, though, feelings of being locked up like an animal in a cage came back to haunt him. It was nearly as bad as it had been in Azkaban, and that was saying something. 

Harry sat down at the kitchen table, which was covered with a thick layer of dust. The place was not kept up, unfortunately, but there was no one to look after it. Certainly the members of the Order of the Phoenix had more important things in their agenda than making sure their headquarters were kept clean. 

Meanwhile, Lupin was scrounging around the kitchen cupboards for some tea. 

"D'you have any tea in this old place, Padfoot?" Lupin inquired with a slight smirk. 

"How should I know?" Sirius replied. "I don't exactly live here anymore... thank Merlin for that." 

Lupin chuckled at Sirius's sarcasm and then said, "Aha! Here we go!" 

Lupin removed a tin from one of the cabinets and took out a tea bag. He knew where the kettle and cups were kept and so continued to quietly prepare a pot of tea. 

"Perhaps you should look into serving up some brandy instead," came the voice of Albus Dumbledore as he entered the room. There was a smirk on his face and a twinkle in his eyes, but everyone knew the underlying reasoning for his remark. This was bound to be one long, stressful meeting. 

"Ah, that would prove a good idea if I've ever heard one, Albus," Lupin replied. "It's a shame that all the hard liquor was already used up a while ago." Here, Lupin cast a wry grin in Sirius's direction. 

"Well, when a man has nothing else to do, drinking himself to a stupor is oftentimes to best choice," Sirius said defensively, although there was some humor in his tone. 

Other Order members filled the room, and as Harry glanced around, he was surprised that Snape had not yet arrived. Of anything he would hear tonight, Harry was most anxious to hear Snape's report on the Death Eater meeting from the night before, and then, just as the kettle finished, Snape strode into the room, his eyes cast downward and his gaze held straight in front of him. Harry watched him as he took a seat in the corner of the room that was clearly away from the others. This behavior was nothing new, but Harry got the distinct impression that Snape was in an even more bitter mood than was usual for him. 

Once everyone had arrived and settled in, Dumbledore began the meeting by giving a quick welcome, but all the while, his face was grave and focused. Then, he finally alluded to what Harry wanted to know the most. 

"There was a Death Eater meeting last night," Dumbledore explained, "and as you will all find out further from Severus's report, the threat of Voldemort grows ever stronger." 

Several individuals in the room visibly cringed upon hearing Voldemort's name, but Dumbledore was not afraid to use it, and use it he would, despite whatever discomfort it caused those around him. As Harry glanced around the room filled with Order members, he wondered how and why so many of them were so fearful of the name itself. After all, Dumbledore had told Harry back in his first year at Hogwarts that fear of the name only increased fear of the thing itself. People had valid reason to fear Voldemort, but something inside Harry churned upon noticing that this very fear penetrated even the members of the honorable and valiant Order of the Phoenix. If there were people in the Order who feared the Dark Lord, then what did that say about the rest of the wizarding world? 

Upon brief reflection, Harry realized that the only other people who had ever spoken Voldemort's name were Sirius and Lupin... and later on Hermione. When he directed his attention back to the goings-on in the room, Snape had just started giving his report. 

"There have been new recruits, several sons of older Death Eaters, and many of which are current students at Hogwarts," Snape told the room at large. "You can all clearly see how this increases the danger. Although the students are unable to do any sort of harm within the grounds of Hogwarts, there is still an increased risk, I believe, to how this may affect other students, and the Dark Lord has clearly charged his new recruits with bringing down Harry Potter." 

As Snape said Harry's name, his dark eyes met Harry's for a moment, but then he quickly diverted them. Harry wasn't sure what emotion he saw in Snape's practically unreadable eyes. 

Then, of course, the silence ended, and questions were issued forth simultaneously all around the room. Much to Dumbledore's dismay, he found out that Snape was not the only Order member who objected to allowing the new Death Eaters to remain at Hogwarts as students. They all thought it too risky a price to pay, but Dumbledore had his mind already made up. 

"If we push them away, then they will have even less of a chance at seeing the wrong of their ways," he patiently explained. "I believe that there is still hope. Hogwarts is filled with some of the most brilliant minds in Britain, and it is our duty to ensure that this new generation is being guided in the right direction. If we give up on them, who will they have to turn to but Voldemort?" 

Again, cringes, but also silence. 

There were several reluctant nods, but apparently, this still wasn't convincing enough for Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody. The ex-Auror stood up on his one real leg and his one wooden leg and hobbled over to Dumbledore, clunking across the old floorboards. As he glared quizzically at Dumbledore, Moody's magical eye moved about uncontrollably, while he kept his other one focused firmly on the Headmaster of Hogwarts. His grizzled, grey hair seemed to be standing on end, and every scar and line on his face stood out in horrific relief in the lighting. 

"Albus," he growled, "you cannot be serious." 

"On the contrary, Alastor," Dumbledore replied calmly, "I am quite serious." 

"And what will you be doing to ensure that the rest of the students are actually kept safe from these Death Eaters?" he inquired suspiciously. 

"I have already told you all that the wards surrounding Hogwarts prevent the students from doing any sort of dire harm to each other. I will be strengthening the wards around Hogwarts as well. The only time these students will be allowed off-grounds is when they are being summoned." 

"Why not keep them within the grounds at all times, including during a summons?" 

"Because," Snape interjected, standing up and walking over to Moody and rolling back his sleeve to reveal the presently reddish-colored Dark Mark, "when the Dark Lord calls his followers, he expects them to respond. When this mark burns black, it burns relentlessly until the follower replies to the call and makes an appearance in front of the Dark Lord. Failure to do so would only increase the pain caused by the Dark Mark. It is his means of controlling those who vowed their servitude and their lives to him, and if they do not follow his command, they will very easily be driven insane by the excruciating pain that would eventually come forth from the Dark Lord... perhaps even perish. No one can deny him." 

Moody's magical eye was whirling non-stop out of control as Snape stood there, revealing the Dark Mark that he had taken. Harry had seen Snape show the Mark only once before, and that had been in front of Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, at the end of Harry's fourth year when Voldemort had fully returned to power. 

With a grunt, Moody curtly nodded and sat back down without another word. 

Snape followed Moody's motions, and then Dumbledore said, "Now, let us move on to discussing how we plan to increase the protection..." 

Dumbledore's voice droned on as Harry's concentration left the room. He was wondering what had happened to Snape that very night Voldemort had returned to power. He didn't think that Snape had been among the Death Eaters who had stood in the circle around the Dark Lord, but Voldemort had not mentioned all the names aloud of those present, and Harry knew that even if Snape had been there, he would not have been able to do anything to help Harry. Harry remembered Snape's words to Fudge in Dumbledore's office that night as if they had been spoken yesterday: 

_"There. There. The Dark Mark. It is not as clear as it was an hour or so ago, when it burned black, but you can still see it. Every Death Eater had the sign burned into him by the Dark Lord. It was a means of distinguishing one another, and his means of summoning us to him. When he touched to Mark of any Death Eater, we were to Disapparate, and Apparate, instantly, at his side. This Mark has been growing clearer all year. Karkaroff's too. Why do you think Karkaroff fled tonight? We both felt the Mark burn. We both knew he had returned. Karkaroff fears the Dark Lord's vengeance. He betrayed too many of his fellow Death Eaters to be sure of a welcome back into the fold."_

Harry had never heard anything of Karkaroff since then and since had assumed he was dead, and according to what Snape had said this evening, Karkaroff very easily could have been driven into insanity by the burning of the Mark and then died. From the way Dumbledore had asked Snape if he was ready to do what he had to do that night of Voldemort's return, and from Snape's short, simple response of "I am," Harry had a strong idea that Snape was returning to Voldemort, though to spy on him, of course, but his return had been delayed. Was Snape the cowardly Death Eater who Voldemort said would pay? Harry truly thought so. But how did he pay? 

Harry knew that Snape would never tell him such details, and Harry was not sure he even wanted to know. In the midst of Harry's wandering mind, Dumbledore announced the end of the meeting, which finally brought Harry back to reality. 

Seeing the glazed-over look in Harry's eyes, Lupin leaned over toward him and asked quietly with some concern in his voice, "Harry, are you all right?" 

"Huh?" Harry mumbled, blinking a couple of times. "Er... yeah. I'm fine, Remus; it's just that, well, there's a lot of stuff going on, and finding out now about Malfoy and those other new Death Eaters doesn't exactly sit well with me, you know?" 

Nodding solemnly, Lupin replied, "Well, I'm afraid what's done is done, Harry. You and I both know that Dumbledore will do everything within his power to ensure the safety of the students at Hogwarts, but I fear to say that it was more or less inevitable that many of the Slytherins would join Voldemort's ranks." 

Harry frowned and grumbled, "I know, but that doesn't change how I feel. I think Dumbledore's got too much hope for them. The only person who ever overcame his decision to become a Death Eater was Snape." 

Harry and Lupin didn't know it, but Snape had walked silently past them right as Harry said that last part. A part of him wanted to stop and listen to the rest of their conversation, but another part of him tugged him along, pulling him away from the presence of the others and to the front door, where, once he was outside, he apparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest that was just outside the boundaries of Hogwarts' grounds. 

Nightfall had fallen some hours ago, and as he made his way back to the castle, Snape thought with some disbelief how strange it felt for Harry Potter to finally have believed that he really had realized the wrong of his actions and changed sides. There were many people who still weren't convicted several years later, and as Snape entered through the front doors, he wondered with some chagrin why Harry's opinion of him mattered. It hadn't always, but apparently, something had changed. 

No one could ever accuse Snape of being a nice man, for he was definitely tainted from his past and overall a bitter person whose outlook on life was oftentimes dire. He liked his quiet chambers and revelled in silence and enjoyed keeping to himself, and his harsh demeanor toward students clearly showed that he tolerated little below what he considered acceptable performance in class. However, he was still a good man in spite of all that.


	28. Chapter TwentyEight

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The days of spring continued to grow longer and warmer, and as the month of May passed, the students found themselves longing to go outside and sit beneath the shade of the trees near the lake, watching the Giant Squid as it moved lazily about the calm water. The days all were beautiful, with nary a cloud in the sky, and the air warm with a slight breeze. It was very unfortunate, however, that they were confined within the boundaries of Hogwarts. Without any trips to Hogsmeade, the students had become even more restless than was usual as the end of the year approached, much to the dismay of the professors. 

Rather than lightening the load of assignments they placed upon the restive students, the teachers piled the workload ever higher. The expectations were even more stringent at the end of the year, for that was when final exams and O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s were scheduled. 

Before they knew it, May had passed completely, and June greeted them, the same bright and sunny weather abounding nearly every day. 

One day, while studying in the library, Harry glanced up from his paper on advanced techniques of Transfiguration and noticed that Ginny was gazing longingly out the window. Hermione had her nose buried in one of the many thick tomes she had piled two feet high around her, and even Ron was working diligently on his homework. Harry knew that Ginny was stressing about having to take O.W.L.s in just a couple of short weeks, and knowing how trying those tests could be, Harry sympathized with her. 

"Ginny?" he ventured quietly, not wanting to disturb the others. Thankfully, they kept their attention focused on their work. 

"What, Harry?" Ginny asked, her voice sounding tense. 

"Are you all right?" 

Ginny sighed. "No, hardly. Are O.W.L.s really as bad as everyone says they are?" 

Hermione, having heard Ginny's question, looked up from the book she had been intently reading and said knowingly, "Of course not, Ginny. The O.W.L.s are vastly over-rated. Anyone who thinks they're difficult simply has not prepared enough for them." 

Ron rolled his eyes and muttered something about "Miss Know-It-All," which Hermione chose to ignore. Ginny, however, was not convinced. She scoffed at Hermione's typical attitude toward schoolwork and tests and closed her Charms textbook loudly, shoved it into her bag, and stormed out of the library. 

"Was it something I said?" Hermione asked innocently. 

"No, Hermione," Ron retorted sarcastically. "Just the fact that you went on about how easy tests are. No one but you thought those bloody tests were easy. Right, Harry?" 

Harry didn't want to become involved in a quarrel between his two best friends, so he quickly placed his things in his bag, stood up, and simply stated, "I'm going to see where Ginny went." 

Before either Ron or Hermione could say another word, Harry had left the library and was headed for the Gryffindor common room. Upon stepping gingerly through the portal, Harry's green eyes immediately came to rest upon Ginny's form huddled in a chair near the fireplace. She wasn't reading or studying. Rather, her arms were crossed tightly across her chest, and her face twisted into an unpleasant frown. 

"Ginny?" Harry questioned tentatively, walking slowly toward her. 

"Harry, just leave me alone," Ginny muttered. 

"What's the matter?" Harry insisted gently, kneeling on the floor in front of her, studying her pretty face carefully. 

"It's just these stupid tests," Ginny spat. "They've got me on edge, okay? I don't know how you handled it, Harry... honestly. With all the usual stress from homework, not to mention everything else that's going on out there," she continued, gesturing toward the window, "the professors still expect us to take these damn things." 

"Well, er..." 

In all honesty, Harry wasn't sure what to say. There had been many times throughout the past couple of years since Voldemort had returned to power when Harry wondered how the professors could still go on assigning homework, teaching lessons, and giving tests when there were such horrible things happening in the world all around Hogwarts. Were they so oblivious to the problems outside the walls of Hogwarts that they simply thought they could go on living as if nothing outside had changed, like everyone was all right? Sometimes, when Harry had been upset with the reality of events, he had almost convinced himself that such a thing was true, but he knew that was as far from the truth as anything possibly could be. If anything, the professors at Hogwarts, especially those who were a part of the Order, were fully aware of the goings-on in the world outside of the castle. 

Perhaps by keeping some semblance of normalcy within the school, they were proving that they would not allow fear to consume their hearts and minds into thinking that all hope for tomorrow's generation was lost, thus leaving them with the general negative attitude that asked, "Why bother? Why bother to keep trying? Why bother to to keep educating the next generation, preparing them for the adult world?" 

Harry took Ginny's small hands in his own. As he held them, he noticed the small freckles that decorated each delicate finger, and he found himself smiling for having noticed such a small detail of her beauty. Then, Harry gazed into Ginny's deep brown eyes and said, "You know what you need?" 

"What's that?" Ginny questioned curiously. 

"A nice day outside. No worries. Just us... you and me... and the sunshine... perhaps a picnic. What d'you say, Ginny?" 

"That sounds lovely," Ginny smiled a little, "but, Harry, I have so much work to do yet, and-" 

"You still have at least two weeks before the first exam," Harry explained. "Yeah, they're challenging, but you're a smart girl. We're not all like Hermione, but your brother and I managed to pass. If we could do it, then you surely can." 

"Well..." Ginny hesitated. "Maybe..." 

"How about this weekend?" Harry asked. "And I know the perfect place." 

"What place would that be?" inquired Ginny suspiciously, for whenever Harry spoke in that teasing tone of voice, she knew full well that he was up to mischief. 

"Can't it be a surprise?" Harry asked, feigning innocence. 

"Harry James Potter," Ginny said sternly in a tone that very much resembled her mother's, "you either tell me where you're planning on taking me, or you can forget the whole thing." 

"All right, fine," Harry sighed. "It's in the hilly area just outside Hogsmeade..." 

"Harry!" Ginny exclaimed, shocked. "But... but we're not allowed outside Hogwarts' grounds. You know that!" 

"Yeah, I know... but I have my Invisibility Cloak and my map that shows all the secret passageways, after all," he grinned. 

"I don't know, Harry," Ginny hesitated. "It's awfully risky..." 

"Who's gonna find out? C'mon, Ginny... We've been kept locked in this castle all year like prisoners. We deserve a day of freedom." 

"You're sure it'll be safe?" 

"No one will know, Ginny. We won't even tell Ron or Hermione." 

"I don't like this, Harry... but it would be nice to get out of the castle for a little while..." Ginny trailed off. 

"So, you'll do it?" Harry asked. 

"Okay, yes, I'll do it," Ginny agreed quickly, "but you had better keep this a secret from everyone and make sure that we're not caught." 

Harry nodded firmly. "Don't worry. I will." 

Harry had not intended to ask Ginny on a date outside the grounds, but in the moment, his mind had raced for an idea, and Sirius's story about the hilly area just outside the wizarding village had flashed into Harry's anxious mind. He knew it was a risk, but now that he had committed to taking Ginny there the coming weekend, Harry wasn't going to back down. Ever since Valentine's Day, he had been wanting to do something extra special for her, and he thought this was the perfect occasion. 

The rest of the week passed uneventfully, and when Sunday morning came, Harry asked Ginny during breakfast to meet him near the humped-back witch at eleven o'clock, where Harry knew one of the secret tunnels resided that led to Hogsmeade. The candy store, Honeydukes, was not open on Sundays in the summer, and it was rather convenient for two students who wished to sneak off Hogwarts' grounds unnoticed to come up through the cellar of the candy shop. Harry had a small lunch already prepared and waiting in his room. All he would have to do would be to shrink it down in size to make it easy to store in his pocket as they sneaked out under the Invisibility Cloak. 

Everything seemed to be going according to plan, and as Harry left the Gryffindor common room just fifteen minutes before eleven that morning, he didn't notice that Ron was watching him. During breakfast, Ron had overhead Harry telling Ginny to meet him near the statue of the witch, and much to Ron's confusion and suspicion, he wondered what his best friend had in mind for his little sister. Being the older brother and the only Weasley boy left at Hogwarts, Ron was naturally protective of Ginny, even if the boy she was dating was Harry. 

Ron nearly jumped out of his freckled skin was Hermione's voice sounded behind him. "What are you up to, Ron?" 

Quickly regaining his composure, Ron hissed, "Geez, Hermione. D'you have to scare the living daylight outta me?" 

Hermione shook her head and rolled her eyes. "Well?" she implored. "What are you doing?" 

"I'm watching Harry." 

Ron continued to creep down the hallway, making sure to keep himself several paces behind Harry. 

"And why are you suddenly so interested in where Harry's going?" Hermione insisted. "Don't you think you're being rather nosy?" 

"Hardly," Ron muttered. "Especially considering that he didn't mention a bloody thing to me about what he's plannin' on doing with Ginny." 

"What on earth are you talking about?" 

Hermione had to lengthen her strides to keep up with Ron. 

"He's meeting her in a very odd place, and if I'm not mistaken, it's one of those secret passageways that's listed on that map of his." 

"But Harry wouldn't-" Hermione said disbelievingly. 

"Are you sure, Hermione?" Ron asked. "I dunno. I wouldn't put it past Harry. When he's got his mind made up on something, you know he'll do anything to see it through, whatever it is." 

"You're right," replied Hermione reluctantly. "Come on," she added hurriedly, grabbing Ron's arm. "We won't want to be noticed, so I'm going to cast a Silencing Charm and a Disillusionment Charm on us." 

"A Disillusionment Charm?" Ron asked incredulously. "Those are very powerful and complex spells! Even half the seventh years can't do them properly!" 

"I know," muttered Hermione. "Now, keep quiet. I'm going to cast them now, and we'll follow Harry and see what he's up to. We don't want him getting himself or Ginny into trouble." 

Ron wanted to ask _What about us?_, but he kept his month shut as Hermione cast the two charms that would ensure they would be kept hidden from Harry, and they followed Harry until he stopped at the statue of the witch, where Ginny was already waiting. 

"Ready?" Harry asked Ginny, casting his gaze quickly around the corridor, hoping no one was coming. 

"Ready," Ginny said firmly, keeping the determination in her voice. She didn't want to back down now. 

Harry nodded and then tapped his wand on the back of the witch and murmured, "_Dissendium._" 

A portal opened in the back of the horrid-looking statue, and Ginny found herself gazing open-mouthed into the blackness below. 

"After you," Harry told her. 

Ginny cautiously stepped into the hole and disappeared into the darkness, followed closely by Harry. 

"Hurry," Hermione hissed to Ron, "before it closes." 

Hermione and Ron quickly followed Harry and Ginny into the secret tunnel, narrowly missing the closing portal. If they would have had to open it again, Harry would have surely noticed. 

Little did any of the four unsuspecting Gryffindors know that Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle, had been watching from behind a crafty Disillusionment Charm of their own, that basically made them blend in perfectly with the stone walls, the whole time. 

While Harry and Ginny made their way silently through the tunnel, followed by Ron and Hermione, Ginny found herself gazing about the darkness in amazement. She had no idea that Hogwarts had hidden tunnels such as these. The air was musky and still, and she could see tree roots sprouting forth from the dank earth that served as the ceiling and walls. After a few minutes, however, some worn stone steps appeared, and Harry and she ascended them to the trapdoor that opened into the cellar of Honeydukes. Ginny kept reticent as they carefully exited the tunnel and made their way up the stairs to the main floor of the shop, where no one could be found. When no one was looking from the street, they slipped out the doors and continued to weave their way through the not-too-thick crowd until finally coming to the edge of town. 

There lay the rolling hills that were covered with all sorts of trees that Sirius had told Harry about. It really was a beautiful and welcoming place, especially after being kept within the borders of Hogwarts for months and months. Once Harry and Ginny were deep within the forest, Harry removed the Invisibility Cloak and laid it down on the damp ground. They both took a seat on it, and Ginny smiled at Harry and spoke for the first time since leaving the castle. 

"I have to say, Harry, that I'm impressed. This place truly is worth it, and wow, sneaking out of the castle like that!" She laughed. 

Harry chuckled as he began to remove some sandwiches from the now normal-sized bag that he had packed them in. Meanwhile, Ron and Hermione was standing behind some shrubs about twenty feet away, watching the scene in front of them unfold. 

"Unbelievable," Ron muttered to Hermione. "Harry actually pulled it off... sneaking out of Hogwarts and everything." 

"Yeah," Hermione whispered, worry evident in her voice. "That's not something to be proud of, though." 

"Maybe or maybe not," Ron replied. "He could have at least told me he was planning on risking my sister's life along with his own." 

"Well," Hermione sighed, "maybe we ought to just stay here and keep an eye on them and make sure everything's all right." 

"You mean just sit here?" Ron implored. "A part of me wants to deck Harry for doing this..." 

"Be quiet," Hermione hissed. "Even with the charms, if you make too much noise, you might break them." 

"Sorry," Ron muttered and turned his attention back to Harry and his sister. 

A few minutes passed in peace, and as the picnic progressed, Ron and Hermione began to feel at ease. Harry and Ginny were eating and talking softly, clearly enjoying the summer day, but then a twig snapped, causing both Ron and Hermione to put their guard back up. However, the couple on the Invisibility Cloak-made-blanket were too engaged in their attentions on each other to notice. 

Then, out of no where, it seemed, three black robed figures appeared, surrounding the couple on all sides. Ginny gasped, and Harry immediately went for his wand, but one of the robed figures was quicker. With his wand held firmly in his outstretched hand, Harry heard, "_Expelliarus_!" Then, before Harry could react, his wand had flown out of his hand. The figure who caught it laughed haughtily and pulled his hood down. 

"Malfoy!" Harry yelled angrily. 

Ron was already going for his wand and made to dash out from behind the bushes when Hermione tried to stop him. 

"Ron, you can't!" she pleaded. "We have to go get help!" 

But Ron wasn't listening. As he left Hermione's side, the charms were broken, and Ron revealed himself to the robed figures. Hermione was close behind him. Harry and Ginny looked at their friends in surprise, but before any of them could say a thing, Malfoy ordered, "Crabbe! Goyle! You know what to do!" 

Harry was expected the two over-large Slytherins to tackle his friends or hit them with some sort of spell, but instead, they both pressed their right index fingers to the spot of the Dark Mark on their left forearms, giving a signal to the other Death Eaters. In a split second, several more robed figures appeared, completely surrounding the group of Gryffindors, and Harry realized that they were vastly outnumbered. 

"What the hell are you playing at, Malfoy?!" Harry bellowed at Draco. "Fine, take me, if that's what your game is, but leave my friends alone!" 

Draco smirked at Harry and shook his head mockingly. "Oh, Potter... you disappoint me. You made this only too easy. Surely bringing you to the Dark Lord will satisfy his desires very much, but if I bring your Mudblood and Mudblood-loving friends along for the ride, I daresay that will give him a very tasty treat. A very tasty treat, indeed." 

Without another word, the Death Eaters drew in around the Gryffindors and took them captive, hitting them with _Stupefy_ to elimitate any resistance. Then, they all disapparated. 

The forest on the hilly area outside the village sat seemingly untouched, covered in vibrant sunlight on a seemingly perfect summer day.


	29. Chapter TwentyNine

Chapter Twenty-Nine

Snape was in the middle of grading some rather abominable exams that his third year Ravenclaw/Hufflepuff class had taken when he felt the Dark Mark begin to tingle on his left forearm. He abruptly placed the quill on the desktop and rolled up his sleeve, examining the mark. It was a darker red than usual, but it wasn't black like when the Dark Lord summoned his followers. 

_How odd. It rarely turns this color... unless one or more of the Death Eaters are activating it to call in more of their wretched kind._

Just as Snape began to wonder what was happening that was so important for such a thing to occur, the Dark Mark turned black, sending a pulsing, burning sensation up his arm. This, he knew, could only be Voldemort himself calling. Rushing out of his office and quickly placing the wards on the door, Snape cursed under his breath as he strode down the corridor, barking at a few of his own Slytherins to move out of his way. He barged into his chamber and grabbed his mask and robe, all the while wondering why Voldemort was summoning his followers in the middle of a sunny afternoon. The Dark Lord usually reserved the night hours for his biddings, thus raising less suspicion. 

Snape knew that he was already running behind, and he was usually one of the last to arrive, anyway, considering the fact that he had to always dart across the grounds of Hogwarts before he would to able to apparate to the place of the meeting. Thankful for his long legs, Snape arrived just outside the borders of the grounds in a couple of minutes from his departure from the castle, already clad in his Death Eater attire, and he instantly disapparated and reappeared elsewhere. 

Snape immediately recognized the location. He had arrived on the grounds of the Malfoy Estate, and amidst the covering of trees, Snape noticed several figures assembled. He slowly inched closer to them and noticed with a start who the victims were. Voldemort himself was standing in the middle of the circle that the Death Eaters had formed around the four young victims. This was not good, not at all. 

Snape's mind raced. He was used to having to just stand by and watch Voldemort's victims be tortured and eventually killed, but Harry Potter and his friends were another matter entirely. He knew what he would be risking by leaving the scene and alerting the Order, but Snape knew that there would come a day, sooner or later, when his days as a spy would come to an end. To keep such a thing hidden from Voldemort forever was nearly impossible. Snape observed that much of Voldemort's attention was on his victims, so this, at least, would make his escape easier. 

Snape edged behind a tree quietly and disapparated. Upon his return to the Forbidden Forest's boundary, Snape ran like never before toward Hogwarts. He had no time to think about how Harry had be taken or what the outcome would be. He knew he had to get to the Headmaster's office... and fast. 

He was practically out of breath as he stumbled ungracefully into Dumbledore's office, panting and nearly falling over. 

"Severus!" Dumbledore exclaimed, coming toward the younger man in a manner that was very fast for someone so old. 

Snape took one deep breath and said, "He has Potter. Malfoy Estate. Go. Alert the Order now!" 

Dumbledore didn't ask a single question. With a curt nod, Dumbledore turned to the fireplace, and as Snape left the office, he knew that everything was in Dumbledore's precious hands now. Snape, however, had to return to the scene and hope that the Order would not be too late. Being found out by the Dark Lord was the least of his worries. 

"Very well done, young Malfoy," Voldemort said praisingly toward Draco. "You have done well." 

"Thank you, my lord," Draco responded, keeping his face impassive. 

Voldemort walked around the circle of Death Eaters, eyeing each one critically. His red eyes glowed menacingly as if he were scrutinizing them, sizing them up, and examining them. When the Dark Lord came to Snape, he paused momentarily and stared extra hard at him. For a second, Snape thought the worst, but he carefully kept up his guard, ready to block the Dark Lord if he tried to use Legilimency to read his thoughts. Much to Snape's relief, Voldemort continued on. 

"Those of you who have served me for years," Voldemort hissed suddenly, "you should look to the younger generation for guidance. It is a dire shame that it is not the other way around, as I would have expected," he sneered, "but nonetheless, I am quite pleased to have Harry Potter and his closest friends at my feet now." 

Voldemort turned his back to the Death Eaters and stared at the four motionless victims. Bringing his wand out, he muttered, "_Ennervate_," and Harry and his friends regained consciousness. Harry sat up with a start and realized all too soon where he was. He didn't say a word. He just glared at Voldemort with such loathing that it was unspeakable. 

"Ah, Potter..." Voldemort cooed mockingly. "How kind of you and your little friends to join us on this fine day." 

Ron looked around, feeling lost and in a daze, while Hermione and Ginny both edged toward their respective boyfriends, seeking some sort of protection. Harry absently wrapped his arm around Ginny, but he didn't say anything in response to Voldemort's greeting. He knew Voldemort was playing with him, trying to evoke a reaction, but Harry wasn't about to play that game. 

"Let me see here," Voldemort continued, passing his slitted eyes over his victims. "Where to begin?" 

His eyes stopped on Hermione. 

"Ah, Miss Granger, is it?" he asked smoothly. 

Hermione just looked away, trying not to shudder, but Harry's face darkened. 

"Yes, Lucius has told me all about you. Harry's little Mudblood friend... thinking she is the most intelligent witch of this age. Shame, shame... filthy, little Mudbloods should know their place. _Crucio_!" 

Hermione doubled over in excruciating pain as the Cruciatus Curse coursed mercilessly through her body. Harry could hear her cries and screams, and it felt like he was being run over by a train as it screeched across the tracks. 

"Stop it!" Harry bellowed, standing up. 

"What did you say, Harry?" Voldemort sneered. "Oh, surely you didn't just command _me_ to stop, did you? It is hardly my fault that you have decided to surround yourself with such filth. Now... that was fun, but let me see... what else might bring me some pleasure before I deal with you?" 

Voldemort's glowing eyes now rested on Ron and Ginny. 

"The Weasleys," he spat, as if the very name left a bad taste in his mouth. "Mudblood-lovers and the very disgrace to what it means to be a Pureblood wizarding family." 

Voldemort raised his wand and aimed it at Ginny, but Harry turned just in time to block her from feeling the curse. Harry took three rounds of the Cruciatus for Ginny, all the while Harry's friends looking on in utter horror, too afraid to move. They had no wands... nothing with which to defend themselves. 

But then, from beyond the circle of Death Eaters, Harry, while still reeling in the aftermath of the curse, heard a very powerful, wise voice. 

"STOP!!!" 

Harry's eyes glanced over the heads of the assembled Death Eaters and into the forest beyond to see none other than Albus Dumbledore. The benevolent wizard was flanked by several members of the Order of the Phoenix, all of whom had their wands at the ready. 

Voldemort, however, merely smirked and remarked, "Well, well, if it isn't my old professor... Dumbledore. Tell me, old man, are you still hiding away in your safehold from the world?" 

Dumbledore paid Voldemort's taunting no heed and took a step in the direction of the Death Eaters, who Harry noticed were becoming unnerved at the sight of their powerful nemesis. Even Voldemort feared Dumbledore, even though he would never admit it or display it openly. 

"Release Harry Potter and his friends at once, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly, "and we shall go peacefully." 

A mirthless laugh echoed from Voldemort's lipless mouth. "So, you old fool, those are your terms? Hmmm, I think not. I'm afraid you're too late this time, Dumbledore. Unlike last time, you and your little army won't stop me. Harry Potter is mine now. All I have to do is say two simple words, and he will be history." 

The words rolled off Voldemort's tongue conversationally, which enraged Harry even more. He swore right then and there that if he had his wand, he wouldn't have had to think twice about using the Killing Curse on the Dark Lord. 

"Then you leave us with no choice," Dumbledore replied firmly. 

"Very well, old man," Voldemort hissed. "Have it your way, then. Death Eaters, attack!" 

The Death Eaters broke out of the circle and began to run toward the Order members. Before Harry could react, a battle had broken out all around him. He heard hexes and curses being thrown from both sides, and as he turned his head to face his friends and see if they were all right, Harry noticed that Arthur and Molly Weasley were fighting off a couple of Death Eaters who had apparently tried to harm their two youngest children. 

Harry stood up, feeling dizzy, and frantically gazed around. Who had his wand? Thinking that it had to be Draco, since he had originally taken it, Harry looked for him among the crowd. Then he saw him. He was standing in front of a cowering Hermione, calling her every horrible name in the book. 

"I always wanted to see you finally suffer at my hands, Mudblood," he sneered, raising his wand. "And now I finally have that honor." 

Harry darted toward Draco and pounced him, pinning him to the ground. Draco struggled underneath Harry's weight, and as he muttered a Burning Hex at Harry, Harry quickly moved his head out of the way, and the red light emitted from the wand's tip flew past him. In their struggle, Harry suddenly saw four wands lying on the ground next to Draco's scuffling form. Feeling a sudden bout of triumph, Harry reached for them and grasped them tightly. 

Draco started to regain his footing as Harry made to stand up, but Harry's reflexes were faster. He placed a full body bind on his classmate and proceeded to hastily hand his friends' wands back to them. Luckily, the Weasleys had succeeded in protecting their children, and with their wands back, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny stood, wands ready in case any of the Death Eaters came their way. It seemed that the Order members were occupying the Death Eaters well enough, however. 

Voldemort, of course, was dueling with Dumbledore. All the while, Snape, pretending to be a Death Eater, quickly challenged Mad-Eye Moody, but Moody knew it was only Snape, and so, he simply Stunned him to ensure no real damage. Harry's eyes, however, were focused on the two most powerful wizards of the late twentieth century. His brow furrowing in anguish, Harry marched toward the scene of the duel. He had allowed Dumbledore to protect him one too many times, and damn it, he, Harry Potter, was the _only one_ who could ultimately destroy Voldemort. Wand raised, Harry charged toward Voldemort, focusing all his energy on the destruction of the creature who had taken his parents and his godfather from him... the monster who was responsible for the deaths of so many innocent wizards, witches, and Muggles. 

But just as Harry was about to attack the Dark Lord, he heard a cry of extreme distress... coming from a very familiar source. Turning around, Harry saw Lucius Malfoy torturing Lupin with the Cruciatus, gloating about the inferiority of werewolves. Lupin, who had always been there for Harry, was now sprawled out on the ground, his body twitching violently. 

"No!" Harry bellowed. He raced toward Malfoy, completely intent on hexing him into oblivion, but then another Death Eater, still masked, aimed his wand at Harry and cried two words that would have ended his life... should have ended his life had Harry not flung himself behind the older Malfoy that last second. Malfoy was a shield for Harry, but being in direct line with the fire of the Killing Curse, it hit him squarely in the chest, and before Harry could register what had happened, the full weight of Malfoy's body collapsed onto Harry, pinning him to the ground. 

Enraged, the Death Eater who had be aiming for Harry, charged toward him and began to say the Killing Curse yet again, but Harry, his wand still firmly in his hand, was faster. 

"_Stupefy_!" Harry yelled, and the Death Eater fell over, knocked out cold. 

Harry struggled underneath Malfoy's body and brought his eyes to rest upon Lupin's weak, crumpled up form. The man was moaning in pain and was trying to stand, but in this destitute form, he was failing miserably. Harry couldn't believe the whole unfairness of the situation when Wormtail, of all people, approached Lupin and said mockingly, "Remus, old friend... how nice to see you. I daresay you've seen better days, eh?" 

"Don't... call... me... friend," Lupin gasped, his grip on his wand fumbling. 

"Yes," Wormtail mused darkly, "I suppose the word is befitting no longer. Such a shame that James and Sirius are no longer here to fight by your side, isn't it? I bet you're really missing them now... maybe I could be a friend and send to you see them?" 

Lupin's eyes grew large in utter horror as Pettigrew brought his silver hand forward and plunged it straight into his side. Lupin cried in horrific agony, and the edges of Harry's vision blurred as he yelled, "No! Remus! No! Leave... leave him alone, you horrible rat!" 

But Pettigrew paid no attention to Harry's protests. That magical silver hand was much more powerful and much stronger than any normal hand, and with extreme terror, Harry watched as Pettigrew contined to make Lupin suffer, quite literally, at his hand. Using that hand like a sword, Pettigrew thrust it deeper inside Lupin and twisted it, until finally no more cries came forth from Lupin. 

Silence. 

"NO!!!" Harry shrieked, finally finding his strength and pushing Malfoy's dead weight off him. Harry lunged toward Wormtail, feeling now more than ever that he should have never shown the rat mercy three years prior. Wormtail, though, being the coward that he was, transformed into his Animagus form and scurried off before Harry could finish him. All of Harry's hexes missed the rat as the rodent scampered off into the woods. Feeling like he was about to collapse, Harry noticed that there were a lot less voices around him. 

Looking around, he noticed that Voldemort and Dumbledore were still fighting, but most of the Death Eaters were either on the ground or had disappeared, apparently by disapparating. Voldemort, too, noticed this and cursed. 

"Damn you, Dumbledore!" he shrieked. "You cannot keep protecting the boy forever, though! There will come a time soon when he will fall at my feet, and you and your army won't be here to save him!" 

"Harry Potter will always have protection, Tom," Dumbledore replied gravely, "whether it comes from without or within. You fail to see just how powerful the young man is." 

Voldemort sneered at Dumbledore, but he knew that he could have kept fighting the aged wizard all day, and he still would not have gotten anywhere. With extreme anger and reluctance, Voldemort bellowed, "Retreat!" 

Harry knew that Voldemort was hardly giving up that easily. He was simply biding his time yet again, awaiting a more opportune time to attack when the defenses on the side of light were down. The few remaining Death Eaters disapparated, leaving the Order members to clean up the mess. Moody released Snape from the Stunning Spell, and some of the members of the Order began to disapparate. Those who were Aurors immediately set out to arresting those Death Eaters who had fallen, but in the midst of everything, Harry barely heard the concerned voices of his friends around him as he knelt down beside Lupin's motionless form. 

_Silver,_ Harry thought, feeling completely drained. _That hand was made of silver, and Remus is a werewolf._

Silver was deadly to werewolves.


	30. Chapter Thirty

Author's Note: This is the last chapter of part one of this story. Please read it all the way through and don't give up in the middle when you come to think all hope is lost. I promise you; you won't be disappointed!

Chapter Thirty

A few minutes later, Harry found himself standing next to a bed in Hogwarts' infirmary. Most of the people had suffered only minor injuries, but Remus Lupin had taken quite a blow. Harry's initial reaction was to think the worst. 

_He can't be dead... He can't be dead... He can't be dead..._ he kept repeating to himself over and over again, hoping that it would change what he had seen on that battlefield. 

When Dumbledore had levitated Lupin's crumpled form and reached for the younger man's bloodied hand and apparated back to the outskirts of Hogwarts' grounds, Harry wasn't sure what to think. His friends and he had been instructed to take a portkey that the Headmaster had made out of one of his shoes, and as Harry appeared and saw Dumbledore levitating Lupin toward the castle, Harry followed warily, feeling drained and broken. 

This just couldn't be. 

Now, Harry had taken a seat next to the bed where Lupin now lay, and for the first time, Harry noticed that his chest was still moving, although slowly, up and down. He was breathing. He was alive. 

Something jolted inside Harry as he started toward the bed, but Dumbledore came to stand beside Harry and gently pushed his hand back. 

"No, Harry," he said gently. 

"But... but, sir, he's... he's alive," Harry stammered. 

"Yes, he is... just barely," Dumbledore confirmed, but there was an emptiness in those usually blue, alive eyes. 

Harry's eyes drifted to Lupin as the man continued to lay there, any sign of life barely visible. He didn't notice who else was in the room, but a few feet away, all of his closest friends were there, looking on with desperation. Before Harry could say anything, though, Madame Pomfrey came bustling toward the bed. 

"Move, move out of the way," she ordered them, her eyes kept on Lupin. 

"Will you be able to heal him, Madame Pomfrey?" Harry questioned anxiously, her heart practically leaping out of his chest. 

She skillfully examined the main wound and declared, shaking her head, "At least Albus was able to stop the bleeding before he lost any more blood. I can repair the tissue damage easily enough, but I fear to say that when the silver came in contact with his blood, the substance had already infiltrated his bloodstream within seconds. Had it been any closer to the full moon, he probably would have died right then and there... but a week still remains before the moon is completely full, but..." 

Madame Pomfrey stopped speaking abruptly and focused her attention on healing the wound in Lupin's side. The anxiety was too much for Harry to bear. What wasn't she telling them? 

"But what?" Harry insisted, coming closer to Madame Pomfrey's side. Dumbledore tried to restrain Harry, but he resisted and inched closer, persistently asking, "But what?" 

"Please, Mr. Potter," Madame Pomfrey stated firmly. "I need silence so I can concentrate." 

Angry and annoyed, Harry glared at her but kept quiet, wanting to make sure that she had all the concentration she said she needed to properly heal the wound. After a few very long minutes, Madame Pomfrey withdrew her wand from Lupin's side and said tiredly, "He's healed for now." 

"Well, that's good, isn't it?" Harry questioned desperately, but the looks on both Madame Pomfrey's and Dumbledore's faces betrayed something dire that they weren't saying. 

"Harry," Dumbledore said softly, "please sit down and relax for a moment." 

"I don't wanna sit down!" Harry yelled. "I want to know if Remus is going to be okay!" 

Sighing heavily, Dumbledore regarded Harry wearily. He appeared very old and very worn. 

"Harry," Dumbledore whispered, trying to keep his wrinkled face impassive, "because Remus was in his human form, the damage was not as bad as it would have been had he been in his werewolf form or closer to taking on or shedding that form. As Madame Pomfrey said, he would have died nearly instantly had the moon been full. Unfortunately, he is still a werewolf, no matter what the stage of the moon. The lycanthropy has been plaguing his body for most of his life. A man who is cursed with this condition, no matter what, cannot live for long once his blood has come in contact with silver. I'm afraid that his dying will only be delayed... and more painful. When the full moon comes, he will die." 

Harry stopped breathing for a moment. Knowing that his friend, his mentor, his professor was going to die a slow and agonizing death made Harry feel like another part of himself had died as well. 

Swallowing the lump in his throat, Harry croaked, while regarding Dumbledore with blurred vision, "So you're saying... you're saying that, no matter what, he's damned to die. That's it? We all just have to watch him live out his last few days in horrible pain, lying on a bed, wondering when his last breath will come?" 

Harry's questions lingered in the air all around him, for everyone else who was present to have heard Dumbledore's words was filled with the same disbelief and grief. Hermione choked back a sob in the background, and Mrs. Weasley hugged Ginny closer as her daughter began to cry. Ron looked on, eyes large and mouth gaping open, and placed his arm around Hermione in what he hoped was a comforting gesture. 

"I am sorry, Harry," Dumbledore whispered sadly, "but there is nothing we can do." 

"Don't you say that!" Harry bellowed. "Don't you dare say that! How can you, the most powerful wizard in of the age, just give up?!" 

"Mr. Potter!" Madame Pomfrey gasped, shocked by Harry's outrage. 

Just as it had been at the end of Harry's fifth year, he felt betrayed by everything and everyone he had trusted. His own guilt, knowing that if he hadn't foolishly left Hogwarts to have a damned picnic, consumed him. He knew it was his fault... yet again. He had brought this upon himself, but Harry stared around the infirmary, not wanting to accept any of it. Fate had dealt him the hardest deck to play, for it seemed that fate, or whatever the hell it was, was determined to take everyone away from Harry... everyone who he loved and who loved him. 

"Come, Harry," Dumbledore said, reaching for Harry's shoulder, but Harry flinched and jerked away. 

"Don't touch me!" he cried. "Fine! I get it, all right? There's nothing that can be done... nothing!" 

No one said a word. 

"Someone should tell Sirius," Harry choked, looking around the room in defeat. "I... I'll do it." 

Then, a low voice that Harry barely could hear came from near the doorway. 

"There might be a way to save him." 

Harry stopped moving, thinking for sure that his ears had to be playing a terrible trick on him, and then his eyes had joined in on the mocking fun when they saw Snape step into the room fully. 

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked. "What are you saying?" 

"There... might be a way," Snape murmured, clearly uncomfortable with so many eyes on him as he walked toward Dumbledore. 

"I see," Dumbledore replied, looking at Snape levelly, awaiting Snape's idea. 

"I had not told anyone, but over the past few months, when I have had time to do private research, I have been working on improving the Wolfsbane Potion. I realize that in its current state that it simply lessens the pain of the transformation and allows Lupin to keep his mind unaffected during his altered state, but with a strong enough potion, perhaps the transformation could be obliterated all together. I must warn you, though, that it hasn't yet been tested. It... may not work," Snape murmured, eyeing Lupin carefully. 

Then, there was a stir from the bed. Lupin's eyes opened slightly, and he replied in a dry, raspy voice, "Let him try." 

Dumbledore nodded firmly and said to Snape, "Very well, then, Severus. It is worth a try." 

Snape nodded curtly and left the infirmary without another word, and Harry watched, at a loss for words, as Snape's retreating form walked out the door. A small glimmer of hope sparked alive within Harry's heart. Looking at Dumbledore, he asked, "Can I talk to Remus for a moment?" 

"Yes, Harry, but not too long." 

Harry nodded and approached Lupin's bed. Lupin turned his head slowly and smiled weakly at Harry. 

"Harry," he simply said. "How are you?" 

"Remus," Harry uttered shakily, "you... you can't die." 

"Oh, Harry, don't speak like that. There is still hope. Didn't you hear?" 

"Yes," Harry said in a very small voice, "but what if it doesn't work?" 

"Then let us treasure the time we have left," Lupin replied. 

Harry nodded absently, unsure of what to say. He didn't want to get his hopes up too much, and seeing Lupin like this was becoming too much for him to bear. 

"I can bring Sirius up here," Harry offered. 

"That would be great, Harry," Lupin continud in the same weak voice he had been using. Coughing, he winced in pain as he closed his eyes. 

"I think that will be enough for now," Dumbledore interjected mildly. "You need to rest, Remus. Poppy," he addressed Madame Pomfrey, "you'll let me know if there are any changes?" 

"Of course, Headmaster," the mediwitch nodded. 

"Wonderful," Dumbledore replied, smiling slightly. As Dumbledore made his way out of the infirmary, he ushered the others out as well. Harry followed them a few paces behind, not really wanting to speak with anyone at the moment. He heard Dumbledore's voice echoing through the corridor as the Headmaster informed Mr. and Mrs. Weasley that he would be speaking privately with the students who had become Death Eaters. 

Finally, Harry came to the junction where he made his turn and continued down the empty hall alone. Just a couple of hours ago, he had been outside enjoying the beautiful day with Ginny, but now, things had completely changed. Harry angrily wondered how and why Dumbledore even allowed the Death Eater students to return to Hogwarts, even though the Headmaster had murmured something about keeping them confined within the Slytherin chambers. Harry shoved the thought of Draco Malfoy out of his mind for the time being, for he knew if he dwelled in his enemy too much, he would only drive himself mad. 

Eventually, Harry came to Lupin's office. Oddly, the door was slightly open. The room sat dark within, however, so as Harry took a step into the room, he muttered, "_Lumos_," and proceeded toward Sirius's portrait. 

The light from the end of Harry's wand illuminating Sirius's face, Sirius exclaimed, "Harry! What's happened? The last thing I knew, Remus was running out of his office, saying something about Voldemort and you." 

"I'm all right," Harry replied grimly, "but... Remus isn't." 

Sirius's face became etched with worry as he questioned, "What? What d'you mean, Harry? What's happened to him?" 

Harry's face twisted with fury as he said between clenched teeth, "That miserable rat... he... he nearly killed him, Sirius! And if Snape can't help Remus, then no one can!" 

"WHAT?!" Sirius bellowed. "Harry, you must take me to Remus at once... I need to see him, now!" 

"That's what I came here for," Harry replied, clearly frustrated and growing irritated. He removed Sirius's portrait from the wall and shrunk it down in size so it would be easier to carry. 

As Harry made his way back to the infirmary with Sirius, Harry explained everything to his godfather, from Wormtail's violent assault on Lupin to Snape's attempt at an improved Wolfsbane Potion. When Harry arrived in the infirmary, Lupin was asleep yet again, and as Harry placed Sirius's picture on a chair next to Lupin's bed, both Harry and he looked on with nothing but concern and compassion for their good friend. 

"All I can say," Sirius growled, "if that he had better be alive and well in a few days. If I were able to get out of this portrait and walk, make no mistake, Harry, that I would hunt down that good-for-nothing traitor, Peter, and I would personally make sure that his life is ended." 

"I just hope Snape is able to cure him," Harry remarked quietly. 

"I hate to say this, Harry," Sirius muttered bitterly, "but if that git actually manages to save his life, even I'll thank him." 

At this, Harry couldn't help but to smile slightly at the prospective irony of the situation. Snape, who had nearly been killed by Sirius's prank involving an unaware, uncontrollable Lupin, was now the only one who could save Lupin. 

Draco sat in Dumbledore's office, torn between fear and hatred, as he glared at the old wizard who sat across from him. 

"I assume you know why you are here, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore stated evenly. 

Draco wanted to sneer and retort, "Of course I know why I'm here, you old codger!" Instead, Draco merely muttered, "Yes, sir." 

"Very well, then," Dumbledore replied gravely, his eyes appearing icy blue as they penetrated into Draco's being. Draco shifted, unnerved, in his seat. He could clearly see now why people feared Albus Dumbledore. 

Draco scowled, remembering how he had been outwitted by Harry, and as he had lain on the ground in the body bind, he had witnessed his own father's death... all because the curse intended to hit Harry had hit Lucius Malfoy instead. _This is all Potter's fault,_ Draco thought furiously. 

"Would you care to voice you thoughts out loud?" Dumbledore asked. 

"Wha-" Draco was clearly taken aback. "You... you can read my thoughts?" 

"Yes, Mr. Malfoy, that I can indeed. In case you didn't know, Voldemort can also read thoughts. It is the art of Legilimency. All one needs to do is look you in the eye and concentrate. For someone like him or me, who are masters at the art, we won't even need to utter the proper incantation aloud or use our wands." 

"Oh," Draco said shortly, still clearly uncomfortable and even more so now that he knew he could hide nothing from the Headmaster. 

"Am I correct in saying, Mr. Malfoy, that you have mixed feelings about your father's death?" Dumbledore inquired. 

"Yes," Draco responded shortly. 

"Do you care to elaborate?" 

"Why bother?" Draco retorted. "If you can read my every thought, then you already know that a part of me always wanted to defy him. He always expected me to follow in his footsteps, and more often than not, I followed foolishly, never bothering to wonder why I was following him so blindly. He was still my father, though, and it's that blasted Potter's fault that he's dead!" 

Rage burned in Draco's pale eyes as his clammy hands clenched tightly onto the arms of the chair on either side of him. Dumbledore, however, kept his calm composure. 

"I see," the Headmaster stated. 

"So what?" Draco asked sardonically. "You see. Big deal. Why don't you just send me off to Azkaban and be done with it?" 

"Is that really what you want, Mr. Malfoy?" Dumbledore shrewdly inquired. "It would seem that is the route all your friends have chosen, but you still have a choice." 

"A choice?" Draco asked flatly. 

"Yes, a choice," Dumbledore continued. "You can either choose Azkaban, or you can remain a student at Hogwarts. If you choose Azkaban, no doubt Voldemort will find a way to break you out as he did your father, but I warn you now. If you choose that pathway, there will be no turning back. Voldemort will use you for his own benefit, nothing else. You will be nothing but a slave to him, and if you fail him, you will suffer by his hands and at his feet. However," he paused, "there is another route. I believe that there is still hope for those who choose to believe it, including those who most people believe to be lost to the darkness forever. I allowed you and your friends to remain students at Hogwarts, even though I knew you had taken the Dark Mark, because I held out on hoping you would see the wrong of your ways. Now, I'm afraid, because of what your friends and you have done, I must be quick to ask you to make your decision. I will not harbor any student who chooses to follow Voldemort, but think carefully, Mr. Malfoy. Do you truly want to wind up like your father?" 

Draco was speechless. His father was now dead. If anything, Draco was too much of a coward to want to be dead, especially prematurely. As much as Draco hated the old man who now sat in front of him, there were times throughout his life when he had hated his own father more than anyone. 

"And what if I choose to stay here?" Draco asked suspiciously. "What am I to do about this?" Draco held up his left forearm and pointed at the spot where the Dark Mark was blazed onto his pale skin. 

"Once you have been marked, you will always be marked, Mr. Malfoy, but you could be a spy for the side of light." 

Draco considered the risk such a thing involved, and either way, he realized that he would still have to appear at Death Eater meetings and either carry out or pretend to carry out the Dark Lord's biddings. It wasn't much to look forward to. 

"I don't want to be my father," Draco finally said, "but it seems that no matter what I choose, I will have to suffer." 

"Then suffer you must," Dumbledore said gravely, "for you have already taken the Mark. You chose that, Mr. Malfoy, and now you must live with the consequences of that choice." 

"It seems I've already lost, then," Draco muttered in defeat, looking at the floor. 

"No, Draco," Dumbledore said softly, "you can still turn your life around. I am not saying it will be easy, but what is your choice? I must know." 

Draco realized with a start that Dumbledore had just called him by his given name. The old fool had spoken almost gently just then, and for the first time in his life, there was someone who believed in him, that he was worth something... worth more than just a pawn or a servant or an heir to the Malfoy Estate. 

Draco regarded the Headmaster of Hogwarts intently for several long moments. Finally, after careful consideration, Draco said, "I will stay at Hogwarts, and I will be a spy. Show me how, and I'll do it." 

Dumbledore felt a bout of triumph flare within him and smiled. 

"I am pleased to hear it, Mr. Malfoy. For now, you may return to your room. There is still much to discuss and for you to learn, but that can wait for now." 

Draco nodded, stood up, and left the office without a word, but some part of Draco's embittered heart actually felt gratitude toward Dumbledore. 

Meanwhile, Snape had retreated to the dungeons, where he locked himself in his private laboratory and set to work. It was true enough that he had improved the Wolfsbane Potion over the past few months, but unfortunately, all the stocks he had were now expired. He hadn't been able spend nearly as much time working on his own research as of late, and so, Snape set to the now life or death task of recreating the potion, hoping that he could work in a few more of his touches to improve it even more. 

He spent the rest of the day working mercilessly over the boiling cauldron, the steam causing the humidity in the windowless room to rise considerably and making his lank hair stick unpleasantly to his skin. The fumes emitted from the potion filled the small room as well, making breathing difficult, but Snape didn't care. He kept his focus on making the potion that could potentially save Lupin's life. There was no point in worrying over what ifs right now. 

Finally, after many long, agonizing hours, Snape finished brewing the Wolfsbane Potion. He bottled it into several vials, all the while ignoring fatigue and hunger. There were much more important matters to be dealt with. 

Snape mechnically reached for some Floo powder and tossed it into the fireplace and called, "Albus Dumbledore!" 

Dumbledore's weary face appeared in the flames. He looked at Snape inquiringly, and Snape stated plainly, "It's finished." 

"Good," Dumbledore nodded his approval. "Will you administer it tonight?" 

"Yes. If I'm not mistaken, Lupin will need to take a vial each day between now and the arrival of the full moon and continue to take it through the period of the full moon, just to be safe. If everything goes as planned, he should not transform at all during the full moon, and if that happens to be the case, then he should be able to recover." 

"I will meet you in the infirmary in ten minutes, then, Severus," Dumbledore replied, breaking the Floo connection. 

Snape grabbed one of the vials of Wolfsbane and stowed all the others away in a locked cabinet for safekeeping. He would see to it personally that Lupin took the full dosage every day. 

When Snape arrived in the infirmary a few minutes later, he noticed that the portrait of Sirius was perched on a chair at Lupin's bedside. Seeing Sirius made Snape's face darken for a moment, but then he saw Dumbledore... and noticed that he was not alone. Harry Potter was standing there as well. Snape decided not to say anything, even though he wondered why there had to be an audience. 

Lupin was awake as Snape approached him. Smiling weakly at the Potions Master, Lupin murmured, "Severus... I don't know how to thank you..." 

"Don't thank me yet, Lupin," Snape mumbled. "There is no guarantee it will work." His black eyes caught with Lupin's amber eyes for a second, but Snape quickly diverted his eyes away. It hurt too much to look into the eyes of the man whose very life was hanging by a thread in his hands. 

Snape handed the vial to Lupin. "You must drink the whole thing, Lupin," he passively instructed. "I will be bringing you a vial to drink every day, and you must drink the whole thing each time." 

Lupin took the vial and drank its contents slowly. He tried to refrain from making a face at the horrible taste of the potion, but a look of disgust was evident on his tired face as he finished. 

"Ugh," Lupin muttered, "did you make it taste even more awful on purpose, Severus?" 

At this, Snape couldn't help but to smile slightly. "No, Lupin... not on purpose. Unfortunately, the flavor of the potion suffered due to increasing its effectiveness. That, of course, is a minor issue." 

"Yes, yes, it is," Lupin chuckled dryly, but then his laughter burst into a fit of coughs. 

Snape uncomfortably stepped back, and just as he was about to leave, Sirius spoke. 

"I suppose I had to see it with my own eyes to believe it, but now I do, Snape. Thank you for helping Remus out like this." 

Snape's back was turned to the others, but he nodded once in acknowledgement and then vanished. Harry felt an odd mixture of relief and anxiety roiling inside him as he asked, "Now what?" 

"Now we wait," Dumbledore said. 

And wait they did. The following week was perhaps the most difficult one Harry had ever had to endure. How was he supposed to keep his mind focused on classes and homework when Lupin's life was on the line? Every day, as promised, Snape brought the potion to Lupin, and every day, Lupin drank the nasty-tasting stuff. Finally, the day came when the moon would be full come nightfall. 

Even Snape felt nervous, and he had a hard time keeping his hand steady as he brought the Wolfbane to Lupin yet again. For the eighth time, Lupin drank the potion. As the evening grew late, several teachers, members of the Order, and Harry and his friends gathered in the infirmary to witness what would happen. They had to know. Would it work? 

The sun set, and as the sky darkened outside, the stars blinked into existence for yet another night. The moon rose, pregnant in fullness, and all eyes settled on Lupin. No one could say how much time had passed as they watched him, but nothing happened. The moonlight was shining through the window near Lupin's bed now and settled directly on his body, but there wasn't even so much as a twitch. 

It was almost unbelievable. Lupin glanced from side to side, and realizing that he wasn't transforming, he said in complete awe, "For the first time in my life, I'm a man and the moon is full. I'm... I'm still a man." His voice shook as his emotions took over. 

Sighs of relief filled the room. There was a hushed silence in the air, and finally, Sirius's voice exclaimed, "What are you all so quiet for? He's gonna be all right!" 

A wide smile broke out on Sirius's face, and as the realization that this was real, this was the truth, struck Harry, he found himself dodging for Lupin's bed, and before he could register what he was even doing, Harry was hugging Lupin like he would never let go. He was alive! He would live! 

Dumbledore brought his hands together and began to clap, and as others joined in, applause filled the infirmary. When the noise had died down, Dumbledore announced that they would have to wait just a couple more days to be sure, but things looked bright and hopeful. 

The whole while, Snape stood in the shadows in the background. He smiled inwardly at the scene, but he knew that to be surrounded by such joy was not in his nature. He had witnessed Lupin's miraculous recovery, and that had been enough for him. He made to quietly exit through the door when Dumbledore's voice suddenly called his name. Snape froze. 

"Severus, please turn around and face us," the Headmaster said jovially. "It is because of you that our dear friend is still with us." 

Looking like a deer caught in headlights, Snape's eyes were enlarged as he wordlessly stared at the room full of people. They broke into applause yet again. 

_Don't clap for me,_ he thought. _I was just doing my job._

"Thank you, Severus!" Dumbledore exclaimed, only to be joined by Lupin. Sirius bellowed a very loud and exuberant, "Thanks, Snape!" 

Snape shook his head is disbelief, but he managed a faint, "You're welcome," and then he left the room. 

The noise died down, and Madame Pomfrey began telling everyone that they needed to leave so their friend could get some much-needed sleep. Harry wished his friends good night, telling them that he would see them later in Gryffindor Tower. 

Before he left, he turned to Lupin one last time and said in the most sincere voice, "I don't know what I would have done if I'd lost you, Remus. I'm glad you're going to be okay." 

Those words, however, couldn't even remotely express how grateful and how relieved and how happy Harry was feeling that moment. Lupin, though, seemed to know how truly happy Harry was, for when he smiled at Harry, he replied, "This is nothing short of wonderful, Harry." 

In his happiness, Harry felt a tingle of guilt inside, and he muttered, "None of this would have happened had I not-" 

"Harry," Lupin said firmly, "don't beat yourself up over it." 

"Yeah, Harry," Sirius added. "If you want to blame someone, blame me. It was me who suggested that bloody place to begin with." 

Harry shook his head. "No, it's still my fault, and you nearly paid for it with your life, Remus." 

"What's done is done, Harry," Lupin sighed. "Don't worry yourself needlessly over the past. You won't do yourself any good." 

"I suppose not," Harry mumbled. "Well, I suppose I ought to let you get some sleep..." 

"Good night, then," Lupin replied. "I'll see you tomorrow." 

"Bye, Harry," Sirius added. 

"Bye, guys," Harry replied, still feeling ashamed as he left the infirmary. 

As Harry walked down the dark, empty corridor, he felt oddly alone and alienated. No one blamed him openly for what had happened, but that didn't change how he felt inside. He didn't feel like returning to Gryffindor Tower just yet, but where could he go where he would find someone who understood what such guilt over making such horrible mistakes felt like? And then it occurred to Harry just who might understand the most. 

Snape. 

Harry headed toward the dungeons and wondered if he would even find the dour man. He might very well have locked himself away in his hidden chambers by now, but as Harry reached the bottom of the staircase, he saw a dark figure stalking the hall. 

Snape, who was glowering at the darkness, noticed Harry as well. 

"Sir," Harry said hesitantly. 

"What are you doing down here, Potter?" Snape sneered. "Shouldn't you be celebrating with your friends?" 

Harry shifted uneasily. "I wanted to thank you, Professor, for... for everything you've done. Dumbledore told me that it was you who alerted the Order... and I already know that you also saved Remus's life." 

"Think nothing of it," Snape spat. "I was simply doing my job." 

"But... you risked a lot doing it," Harry countered. 

"Yes, I did, didn't I?" Snape barked. "Do you have any idea just what I may have risked by alerting the Order to save your neck yet again, Potter? And why? All because of your recklessness, your foolishness! What in Merlin's name where you thinking, leaving the grounds like that, endangering not only your life, but your friends' lives as well? The Dark Lord is no fool, Potter. He will know that someone must have alerted the Order." 

The full implications of his actions now rested heavily on Harry. 

"I know!" Harry yelled angrily. "I don't need you to remind me!" 

"Then why did you come down here, Potter?" Snape asked harshly. 

"Because... because I thought maybe you'd understand," Harry muttered, "but I guess I was wrong." 

"Understand?" Snape asked incredulously. "Yes, I clearly understand that you still think you are a law unto yourself, Potter, and I clearly understand that I seem to be the only one who thinks you are such. You have everyone else convinced that you can do no wrong, and the rest of us have to pick up the messes you create." 

"Then excuse me for making a mistake," Harry said between bared teeth. 

"Yes, a mistake," Snape sneered. 

"So, you're telling me that you don't know what it feels like to make a mistake so horrible that you have to feel the guilt of its consequences weighing on you?" Harry found himself asking. 

Snape blinked. So this was what Harry had come down here for. This sort of understanding. 

Reluctantly, Snape whispered, "Then, yes... I do understand. I know what that feels like." 

"You don't have to hide away from their gratitude, you know," Harry said carefully. "You just saved his life... you essientally saved so many lives, including mine, and this isn't the first time. Why are you so afraid?" 

"I don't deserve their gratitude," Snape muttered darkly. "My life is to be spent paying for my past... mistakes, but they are hardly mistakes. I knew what I was doing." 

"Did you?" Harry challenged. 

"It doesn't matter," Snape continued. "It's easy enough to hide from the world, but try hiding from yourself. That's no easy feat, Harry. I would know." 

"Well, I don't care what you think about yourself, sir," Harry said, gathering his courage, "because I think you are a good man. You have my respect, sir. I'm sorry I didn't give it to you long ago." 

Snape didn't know what to say to such words. Any semblance of kindness was too much for Snape's bitter heart. 

"You should go, Harry. Your friends will be wondering where you are." 

Harry thought he heard a hint of regret and a tinge of sadness in Snape's voice as the Potions Master made his quick retreat. Harry stood there for a moment, the words they had exchanged lingering in his mind, and then he sighed, smiled a little, and went to Gryffindor Tower. 

The next couple of days passed mostly uneventfully. Lupin had successfully remained in his human form during the course of the full moon, and as the next few days after that passed, he regained his strength and his health. Before Harry knew it, exams had come and gone, the Leaving Feast was thrown, the House Cup was awarded (given to Gryffindor, of course), and he found that the end of another year had come. 

He hadn't spoken with Snape any more since that night more than a week prior, and a feeling of peace for the time being covered the castle like a protective blanket. Bags packed and ready to go, Harry now stood on the platform near the Hogwarts Express. 

He glanced around, looking for any familiar faces to which he needed to say goodbye, and there stood Lupin, smiling at Harry. Harry rushed toward him. 

"Well," Lupin remarked, "so ends another year, Harry." 

"Yes," Harry simply replied. 

There were a million thoughts going through his mind, things he wanted to tell Lupin, feelings he wanted to share at seeing him on his feet again, but just seeing him, alive and well, seemed to satisfy all those thoughts and emotions. 

"Take care of yourself," Lupin said. "I'll want to be seeing you back in the fall." 

"And you, Remus," Harry smiled. 

With a quick embrace, Harry wished Lupin well and then boarded the train. He found the compartment that Neville, Luna, and Ginny had saved for him, and as the train shoved off, Harry looked out the window and watched as the faces of so many people smiled back, their hands waving, and the sun shining in the background. They eventually faded into the distance as the train sped into the countryside, and as Harry leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, he dreamt of the past fading away behind him as he sped into the future. 

So Ends Year Six, Part One of A Reflection of Himself

Author's Note: Thank you, thank you, thank you to all my loyal readers who stuck with me these past eight months during the writing of the first half of this story. Your comments, suggestions, and critiques have all been very appreciated. Please stick with me now as I go on to year seven, part two of this story. I'll be taking a short break for a couple of weeks before I pick up writing again, but I look forward to seeing all your reviews and sharing my story with you. Sindie


	31. Chapter ThirtyOne

Part Two: Year Seven

Chapter Thirty-One

The mid-July sun was beating down mercilessly upon Harry's back as he worked on his knees in the garden in the backyard of the Dursleys' house. Pulling weeds was mindless, menial labor, and anything that got Harry away from the Dursleys was fine with him. Every day, they piled the chores on him, but besides barking instructions at him to "clean this" or "scrub that" or "remove this" or "trim that," hardly a word was spoken between Harry and them. 

Callouses had formed all over Harry's palms and fingers from pulling weeds these past couple of weeks, but the pain was bearable, considering what he had been through already in his short life. As he worked, his thoughts drifted, going over the past year... what had happened, what it all meant, where the future was headed... All in all, Harry conceded, his sixth year had ended on a positive note in comparison to his previous years at Hogwarts, and by now, he knew not to get his hopes up too high, lest they come crashing down when he least expected it. 

Time. Yes, it was only a matter of time before Voldemort struck full-force, before that final battle would come, and who would be the victor? A shudder ran through Harry at the very thought over that fateful day. Just short of being an adult by wizarding standards, Harry was definitely seeing things more as a man each day. His childish notions had faded, and his innocence had surely been lost the day he had started at Hogwarts. Those bright green eyes of his had been witness to death and destruction and the most horrible kind of evil possible. What a contrast they were in color to Voldemort's glowing red eyes, but yet, they had both seen many of the same things, but Harry, being of a courageous and good heart, could see beyond what the eyes saw. 

He had seen it on the faces of those he called friends and even on the faces of those who were not friends. He knew it had saved him. It was the most powerful magic in the world that dwelled within every person, whether Muggle or wizard. It was love. 

Dumbledore had told him at the end of his first year how his mother's love had saved him. Her sacrifice had bought his life. Love had flowed through his veins under his skin with every beat of his heart and had protected him and brought him this far. Would it bring him victory in the end, when it mattered most? 

Coming out of his thoughts, Harry realized that he was now finished weeding the garden. Aunt Petunia would never even think of say a simple thank you, though. No, that was too much to ask and far beyond anything the Dursleys were capable of saying to Harry. With a sigh, Harry disposed of the severed plants in the dust bin and headed back inside to wash up before dinner. 

As Harry walked through the back door into the house, he noticed that Dudley and his fat bottom were still planted firmly in the swivel chair at the desk in the living room that had his brand new computer on it. He had just gotten it for his birthday. It was, of course, the latest technology, but Harry just rolled his eyes as Dudley "surfed the Internet." Harry wryly wondered if Dudley's bottom had become permanently attached to the seat. 

Shaking his head as he ascended the stairs, Harry wondered what the purpose was of something like the Internet. It had been around for a few years by this point, but communicating with a bunch of strangers who you couldn't even see didn't seem very interesting to someone like Harry, and neither did spending endless hours looking with glazed-over eyes at websites on mostly rubbish, in Harry's humble opinion. Muggle technology had obviously taken the back burner position in his life since he had discovered the power of magic, where it seemed the possibilities were much greater than any sort of Muggle invention. 

Harry threw his dirtied clothes into the hamper in the bathroom and stepped under the stream of water that was coming forth from the shower head. The warm water felt wonderful as it removed the grime and filth from his body and massaged his skin. It was too bad that the Dursleys had placed a five minute limit on Harry's shower time. 

"Five minutes, once a day," Aunt Petunia had instructed him in her squeaky voice. 

After finishing his shower, Harry quickly dried off and left his unruly hair to its own devices. Whether wet or dry, Harry's hair clearly had a mind of its own and would do whatever it wanted. Harry kind of liked that, though. His hair gave him character, character that was much to the dismay of the Dursleys, who believed in keeping their hair prim and proper, meaning regular trims and stylings. _What a waste of time and money,_ Harry thought. 

Throwing on a pair of jeans and a red shirt, Harry headed back downstairs. Uncle Vernon had just returned from work and was in the middle of kissing his wife on the cheek when Harry walked into the kitchen. He could have done without that sight, but he kept his mouth shut and took a seat. 

"Oh, Dudders!" Petunia called in a sickingly sweet voice, much like Dolores Umbridge's. "Come now, it's time for dinner!" 

At the sound of "dinner," Dudley removed himself from the chair he had been practically living in since his birthday, peeling his fat bottom off the leather. Harry noticed, not surprisingly, that Dudley's plate was stacked with food: mashed potatoes with cheese melted on top, a Cornish hen (extra large, of course), and a mixture of vegetables. There was still dessert to consider afterwards, but Harry knew he wouldn't be having any part of the dessert, certainly not in this house. 

As Harry regarded the small plate of vegetables in front of him, he longed for a nice, well-cooked meal by Mrs. Weasley. He reminded himself that it would only be a couple more weeks at most before he would be seeing the Weasleys and Hermione again, and Harry knew this was his last summer at the Dursleys'. After graduation, he had absolutely no desire to return to this wretched place that had festered many unpleasant memories for Harry over the years. 

His stomach growled a bit too loudly, which caused Dudley to bellow with peals of laughter. Uncle Vernon smirked and remarked very rudely, "Oh, hungry, are you? Well, all you'll be getting is what's on your plate there, boy, so if you don't want it, you'll just have to starve, I suppose." 

Harry glared at his uncle momentarily, but didn't say anything. Vernon, after all, was too focused on his own food to give Harry a second thought. Picking through the food, Harry knew he would only have to clean up the kitchen afterwards, so why bother to hurry through his pitiful meal? 

Eventually, when dinner had ended, Harry headed back upstairs to his room for the rest of the evening. There, he wouldn't have to see the Dursleys, and they wouldn't have to see him, and everyone would be happy. Harry gently stroked Hedwig and opened the window enough for her to go out hunting. Left alone, Harry lay down on the rumpled bed and placed his arms behind his head and stared at the ceiling. A crack ran from one corner toward where he was looking. Focusing on the crack, Harry felt like drifting away again to somewhere else, anywhere but here. 

After several long minutes, he began to fall asleep, but then a chill went through him as a sudden cold breeze blew in through the half-opened window. Harry started, but then realized that it was nothing but the wind. Standing up and going over to the window, Harry made to close it when he thought he noticed a shadow move rapidly across the front lawn. It was hard to tell in the darkness of night with all the trees casting their own shadows everywhere, but the air was still. It had been calm all day, and the leaves on the trees were not moving. Harry was about to shrug it off as nothing but a lonesome breeze when he heard a rattling sound. Harry's breath caught in his throat. 

He knew that sound. He knew that feeling... of chilliness and emptiness and desolation. Dementors. 

Cursing under his breath, Harry instinctively went for his trunk and removed his wand and Invisibility Cloak. He slowly opened the door and peered into the dark hallway. Creeping out into the hallway, Harry was careful not to make a sound. 

Then came the accursed rattling again, only louder, and a shrill scream echoed through the house. Harry ran down the stairs and almost fell over in shock when his eyes came to rest upon the scene in front of him. His aunt was sitting on the couch, shaking violently as a dementor hovered over her, sucking her soul out through her mouth. Then, before Harry could react, the dementor relented, pleased with the results. Aunt Petunia was left there, her eyes staring at the ceiling unblinkingly, not moving, but not physically dead. It was then that Harry noticed that his uncle was sitting in the armchair next to the couch in the very same manner. Where was Dudley, though? Harry frantically looked around for his cousin, but it was too late. The boy was at the computer, now seemingly permanently fixed to the swivel chair. The dementor had fed off the three of them in a matter of a couple of minutes. 

With a sinking feeling, Harry realized that he was no longer safe within the walls of the Dursleys' house. Somehow, whatever protection it had offered had been broken through, leaving Harry to his own devices. He knew if he summoned a patronus that he would lose his wand and be expelled from Hogwarts. He had taken the risk two years prior and had been forced to sit in court while the council of the Wizengamot decided his fate. He couldn't take that risk again. 

Despite the Invisibility Cloak, the dementor could sense that someone was near... someone alive and full of magic. The dementor began edging toward Harry, and not wasting a second, Harry darted back up the stairs and into his room, slamming the door behind him, hoping to buy some time. He grabbed his Firebolt and mounted it, taking off through the window, knowing that the dementor could be mere seconds behind him. 

But what now? _Mrs. Figg's house,_ Harry frantically thought. _She'll be able to alert someone._

Luckily, it seemed the dementor was still far enough behind him as Harry sped through the air and arrived on Mrs. Figg's doorstep. He knocked hard and fast on on the door, and from beyond the wooden door, Harry could hear the elderly lady's annoyed voice saying, "I'm coming! I'm coming! Just give an old lady a moment, will you?" 

The handle clicked, and Mrs. Figg stared at Harry in alarm. 

"Harry!" she exclaimed. "What's happened?" 

"A dementor," Harry replied hastily, stepping into her house. "The Dursleys have been attacked. We don't have long..." 

"Of course, of course," Mrs. Figg nodded quickly, heading immediately for the fireplace, where she Flooed Mundungus Fletcher. "Dung!" she yelled. "Get over here immediately and take the boy somewhere safe!" 

"Aye?" Fletcher grunted and then realized the urgency of the situation. He stepped through the grate. "Come along, 'Arry," he said in a raspy voice, grabbing Harry's young hand with his grubby one. 

"But-" Harry protested. "What about the Dursleys? What's to happen to them? And my stuff?" 

"Don't you worry about that right now, my boy," Mrs. Figg said tersely. "The Order will take care of it." 

Harry gave her a quick nod of thanks, and before he could say another word, Fletcher had disappeared with him through the fireplace. Harry had never been where he now was standing. 

"Where are we?" he questioned, looking around at the rundown shack of a house. 

"My 'umble abode, laddie," Fletcher grinned, displaying a rather ugly set of half-decayed, crooked teeth. "'Course it's not much, but it's a roof over my 'ead." 

Harry noticed several objects, strange odds and ends lying around throughout the room. 

"Where did you get all this stuff?" Harry asked incredulously, but then he remembered Fletcher's kleptomania and mumbled, "Er, never mind." 

"Yeah, it's nothin', really," Fletcher grumbled. "Now, we've gotta get you somewhere safe... and fast. Reckon ol' Dumbledore'll want to see ya first 'fore anything, though. Seems your relatives' place is no longer safe." 

"That much is obvious," Harry muttered sullenly, sitting down on a chair that immediately began to creak under his weight. Harry stood up almost as soon as he had sat down and looked at Fletcher quizzically. 

"All right, then," the unkempt wizard grunted. "Let's get this over with." 

He hobbled over to the fireplace and threw a handful of Floo powder into the grate and called, "Albus Dumbledore!" 

The wise, old wizard's face appeared within the flames. When he saw Harry, he knew that something bad had happened. There was no other reason for Harry to be at Fletcher's place, after all, unless there had been an emergency. 

"Harry!" Dumbledore exclaimed. "Are you all right, my boy?" 

To hear such alarm in Dumbledore's voice was unnerving to Harry. Usually, even in the most dire of circumstances, the aged wizard's voice was calm, but Harry found it within himself to reply, "I'm okay, sir, but the Dursleys... well, they aren't." 

"What has happened?" Dumbledore asked. 

"Dementors," Harry said simply. 

That one word was enough for Dumbledore. He detested the wretched creatures and knew full well what they were capable of. 

"That means the wards... the protection of blood..." Dumbledore drifted off in disbelief. 

"Broken," Harry sighed and then looked at Dumbledore, his eyes asking, "Now what?" 

"Harry," Dumbledore said firmly, "you are to go to Grimmauld Place. We cannot risk another attack of this sort. When you arrive, you will await the arrival of others. I will instruct the Weasleys and Miss Granger to meet you there. The headquarters are kept secretly hidden, so that is the safest place for you all to be. I will be arranging an Order meeting within the next couple of days." 

Harry nodded. "And my things, sir?" 

"I will send someone from the Order to get them for you, Harry. We will have to do something about your relatives as well, but for now, go to Grimmauld Place." 

"All right," Harry replied as Dumbledore's head disappeared. 

Fletcher regarded Harry carefully and then said, "Be careful there, aye, lad?" 

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, reaching for the powder. "I guess I'll be seeing you in a few days." 

"All right. Take care of yourself, 'Arry." 

"Bye," Harry muttered and then threw the powder into the fireplace as he announced his destination. 

Stepping into the flames, he momentarily felt the whirlwind of travelling via Floo and then was promptly spit out on the other side. Covered in ashes and soot, Harry tried to brush himself clean, but as he stood up and gazed around him, he realized just how alone he was right now. Never had he been inside Grimmauld Place when no one else was present. Now, the house sat vacant and gloomy, darkness filling every inch of hallway and room. 

He lit a couple of candles and took a seat at the kitchen table, wondering how long it would be before the others arrived.


	32. Chapter ThirtyTwo

Chapter Thirty-Two

As Harry sat alone in the dark kitchen of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, his eyes drifted around the dreary room, taking in every small detail. Somewhere, a clock ticked away, and he noticed just how numerous the cracks were that lined the aged walls, where plaster had fallen off completely in some places, and paint had chipped and peeled away. Since it was dark outside, the only light that came into the room was from the half-moon and the stars in the night sky. Harry wanted nothing more than for someone else to show up, but in the mean time, he would have liked to have been able to light a fire with _Incendio_, but he couldn't even do that... not without getting in trouble, at least. 

Sighing, Harry wondered how much longer it would be before the others arrived. He wanted to see the Weasleys and his friends. How Harry longed to see Lupin's gentle face or hear Sirius's barking laughter... but they were not here. No, Harry was utterly alone at the present moment, and right now, he would have even favored the Dursleys' presence over such unsettling silence, save for the ticking of some hidden clock. 

Before long, Harry found himself cradling his head in his crossed arms on the worn wooden surface of the table in front of him. He closed his eyes, trying to push away the horrific visions of the Dursleys, their seemingly-lifeless bodies lying rigid within their living room, having been kissed by the dementor, out of his head. He wasn't safe anymore. What had happened to the supposed blood bond and the protection it was supposed to offer Harry? Harry, however, had known for a long time that his days of safety were strictly numbered. With each infernal tick of the clock, time passed away, and the hour drew ever nearer when Harry would find himself face-to-face with Voldemort for the final time. The ticks were only a reminder, though. Clock or no, time would still pass. 

Suddenly, a low, barely audible, sound of boots walking across floorboards brought Harry's attention back full-force, and he started, sitting up in the chair with a jolt. He turned around to face whoever it was that had entered. Harry hoped it would be Lupin with Sirius's portrait, but when Harry's green eyes came to rest upon the dark figure of Severus Snape, Harry frowned slightly and murmured, "Hello, sir. Er, what are you doing here?" 

Snape slowly inclined his head toward Harry and said in way of greeting, "Did you not think to light a fire, Potter? Perhaps my presence would not have scared you so much if you actually had some light in here. As for why I am here, the Headmaster has already decided to notify the Order members and have an emergency meeting straight away." 

With those words, Snape aimed his wand at the fireplace and uttered, "_Incendio!_" Flames immediately burst to life within the grate, filling the room with light and warmth. 

"I couldn't very well do that, sir," Harry scowled, "not without losing my wand." 

"Did you ever think of employing a different method, like matches, perhaps?" Snape inquired smoothly, picking up a box of long matches from the counter. 

Harry just glared at him. 

"As dim as you can be at times, Potter, sitting in a dark house immediately after your former place of residence was attacked is hardly a way to bring comfort to oneself." 

"I know that," Harry snapped, but then he realized in an afterthought that Snape was, in his own twisted way, trying to ease his apprehension and fear. "Erm, sorry..." he mumbled. "I've just been through a lot..." 

Taking a seat quite a distance from Harry, Snape replied in a strangely gentle voice, "I know, Mr. Potter. The others will be here soon, though, and we will start to try and figure out where to go from here. The Headmaster was still alerting other members of the Order when I left Hogwarts, but he should be nearly done by now." 

Harry nodded absently, not quite sure how to react to Snape's assurance and still surprised that Dumbledore had decided to have an Order meeting right away. Such a thing was strange coming from him, and yet, Harry wasn't really all that surprised, not after having seen a different side of Snape in the past year. 

Before Harry had a chance to dwell any further on the subject, the rest of the Order members began to file into the house, rapidly filling the room. Lupin was among the last to enter, and he took a seat right next to Harry, placing Sirius's portrait on the table near them. Both of them had looks of concern on their faces. Even though they were not Order members, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny were also there, surrounding Harry, asking him if he was all right. 

"Are you all right, Harry?" Lupin asked while placing a hand on Harry's shoulder. 

"Just a bit shaken up, really," Harry replied, trying to keep his voice steady. 

"Completely understandable," Sirius commented. "Will you even really miss them, though? I mean, after the rotten way they treated you and all..." 

Lupin glared at Sirius momentarily, and that quieted him immediately. Sirius laughed nervously, saying, "Just kidding, Harry. Seriously, I wouldn't wish such a fate on anyone." 

Sirius visibly cringed at the very thought of the Dementor's Kiss. He had, after all, come very close to being on the receiving end of one a few years prior. Harry's friends took some seats nearby, breathing sighs of relief. 

Dumbledore then called the meeting to order and explained the reason for the emergency meeting. Hushed voices echoed throughout the room, and Harry suddenly felt a strong arm around his shoulders. 

"Let us take him, Albus," Mrs. Weasley's voice pleaded. 

Harry turned his head to look at Mrs. Weasley and noticed that she had tears brimming in her eyes. It was her arm that Harry had felt on his shoulders. 

"Now, Molly," Dumbledore replied evenly, "there is much to discuss yet. In a couple of weeks, Harry will be of age in the wizarding world, and so, he will only need a guardian for a short while. I believe that it would be safest for him to stay here in the mean time, and I would like for your family and Miss Granger to stay here as well." 

"Of course," Mrs. Weasley nodded. "Harry, dear, we'll be right here for you." 

"Thanks, Molly," Harry smiled, touched by her affection for him. 

Then Lupin spoke up, "I would like to stay here as well, if that's all right with you, Albus. Sirius does as well. He's still Harry's godfather, after all, and I... well, I'd like to help look out for Harry, too." 

"Well, Harry," Dumbledore remarked, smiling for the first time since the meeting had begun, "it looks like you will be in good hands. You may all stay here, then, and anyone else who would like to visit may come and go as they please. Now... unfortunately, there is the matter to address as to how this dementor was able to penetrate the magical protection that was offered by the bond of blood. Such magic is ancient and is very strong, and so, a very dark and ancient type of magic must have been used to break such protective magic." 

"Well, that's obvious," Ron muttered to Harry. 

Harry couldn't help but to smirk briefly at his friend's offhanded comment, and he was quite surprised to see that Dumbledore was proceeding with the meeting with Ron, Hermione, and Ginny still there. They, after all, were not members of the Order, but this time must have been an exception. 

Dumbledore paused, regarding everyone closely and intently, and then continued, "I believe that Voldemort has used the force of a dementor who has fed off many of the most vile and evil souls in the world, thus creating a very powerful source of dark magic that has proven to have the power to overcome even the magical barrier offered by the blood protection. He probably infused the creature with a few dark incantations of his own, giving the creature more strength than ever to force itself into the Dursleys' house. No doubt Voldemort will continue to find more effective ways of penetrating our defenses, including the wards that are currently placed around Hogwarts." 

Harry couldn't believe what his own two ears were hearing. This was just plain absurd! 

"That's ridiculous!" Moody growled. 

"Not so ridiculous, really, Alastor," Dumbledore replied calmly. "For every good spell, there is an evil spell to counter it. It is all a part of the balance of the universe and the way in which things work." 

The old retired Auror grumbled and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. If such talk was making Moody uncomfortable, Harry hated to think what it was doing to the others. Snape remained expressionless, shrouded in the shadows of the corner that he sat in. The Weasleys, Hermione, Lupin, and Sirius moved closer to Harry, doing so unconsciously. It was as if they were hoping to protect him with their very bodies. 

"Then what's to be done with the bodies of the family?" inquired a curious voice. 

It was Tonks. Her young, heart-shaped face appeared from within the crowded room, and her hair was its natural color that night, being a medium brown and worn straight to her shoulders. Apparently, she was so unnerved by the events that evening that she had not the inclination or desire to transform her hair into some sort of wild color or style. 

"How about we take them to St. Mungo's?" Sirius suggested, trying to suppress a chuckle. Joke-making was his way of dealing with the situation, after all. 

Harry tried to imagine the Dursleys being kept in the wizard hospital. He pictured his uncle being alive again with his soul intact and practically running around the entire place, raving mad and what Ron would call "bloody mental." No doubt his aunt Petunia would be frantically screaming, demanding to be removed from such "freaks." Dudley would probably be content enough if he had enough good to eat, Harry conceded, but all in all, Harry knew that his relatives would never move again. They were as good as dead, if not worse. 

Harry had always dreamed of the day when he would rid himself of the Dursleys, but he certainly never thought it would be this way. As much as he disliked them, knowing that they had treated him downright cruelly at times, Harry would never have wished the fate of the Dementor's Kiss on anyone, save Voldemort. 

"That would not work, Black," Snape sneered from his corner. "Even a fool like you should know that only wizards are allowed to be hospitalized in St. Mungo's." 

"Yes, I know that, Snape," Sirius retorted. "It was called a joke, in case you didn't know." 

"That is enough," Dumbledore interjected sternly. "Severus is right; St. Mungo's is only for wizards and witches, but thank you all the same for trying to lighten the mood in here, Sirius. Now, as far as any Muggle would deduct, the Dursleys would appear catatonic. They would best be taken care of in a Muggle institution for such conditions. Kingsley, Nymphadora, would you two like to take care of the arrangements?" 

The two Aurors agreed and said they would get started first thing in the morning. With that decided, Dumbledore reminded Harry of the importance of staying within the walls of Grimmauld Place until his departure for Hogwarts and adjourned the meeting, saying that it was already quite late and that another meeting, one to follow up this one, would be in the very near future. 

The Order members began to leave, and Dumbledore was the last one out the door. 

"Good night, Harry," he said. "Do take care and be careful. You have many others here who will be looking out for you." 

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, nodding. He yawned, suddenly feeling very tired. 

Dumbledore left, and the front door was closed. While the adults talked in the kitchen, Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins surrounded Harry, asking question after question. 

"Guys, guys," Harry said, feeling flustered, "I'm okay, really. The only thing I am right now is knackered." 

"Of course," Hermione nodded. "It's best we all head to bed. It's quite late, and after seeing an Order meeting, I think we're all tired." 

After the twins, Ron, and Hermione headed upstairs, Ginny quickly hugged Harry and murmured, "I'm so glad you're all right, Harry," into his ear. She brushed her lips against his cheek as she breathed, "Good night," and then went up the stairs as well. 

From within the kitchen, the adults, including Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Lupin holding Sirius's portrait, left the room and headed down the corridor toward the bottom of the stairway where Harry was standing. Mrs. Weasley embraced him one last time before heading upstairs with her husband. 

"Ready to head up, Harry?" Lupin asked. 

"Yeah, I guess so," Harry mumbled. "I'm tired, but I dunno... I still can't get that dementor and what it did to the Dursleys out of my head..." 

Lupin only nodded with understanding and then placed his hand on Harry's back to encourage him to ascend the staircase. The slight nudge was enough to make Harry walk up to the room that he would be sharing with Ron, and with a good night to Lupin and Sirius, Harry opened the door, entered the already dark room, and fell onto the nearest bed without even removing his shoes. 

Ron had heard Harry walk into the room, and he was about to ask him how he was holding up when he heard soft snores coming from Harry's bed. Smiling to himself, Ron pulled the covers up higher on his bed, shifted a little, and closed his eyes. Knowing that his best friend was safe and sleeping was a very good feeling indeed. 

That night, Harry somehow managed to sleep soundly and deeply, dreaming of flying high on his Firebolt, playing Quidditch with his friends, Gryffindor winning the House cup, kissing Ginny, laughing with his friends on a sunny day by the lake... It was as if some sort of mercy had been granted and given him the solace he needed. The visions that had been plaguing his waking thoughts did not haunt him that night, but it was a small comfort in comparison to knowing that he was surrounded by a loving family that would do anything for him. 

Even though Grimmauld Place was old and dreary, when it was full of people who cared and loved, the atmosphere took on that of a real home in which lives a true family. Never had Harry felt like this in the presence of the Dursleys, despite their rather nice house and their blood relation to Harry. True family was a lot more than just blood, and Harry knew this. 

Blood was strong, but love was stronger. Love was the most ancient and most powerful magic of all, and there was no amount of hatred that could match it. 


	33. Chapter ThirtyThree

Chapter Thirty-Three

The first year students filed into the Transfigurations classroom, nervousing taking seats and awaiting the arrival of their professor for their very first lesson ever at Hogwarts. A stern-looking witch, who they had been introduced to during the previous night at the Sorting Ceremony as Minerva McGonagall, walked crisply into the classroom and instructed them to open their books to page five. 

"Now," she said with her tight-lipped mouth, "we will be starting off small and simple. You will be learning how to tranfigure pins into worms and then back again." 

One of the children, who was sitting alone at the back of the classroom, glanced around at the others. He could feel himself shaking with apprehension already, and he hadn't even performed the spell yet. The teacher seemed oblivious to his frets, however, and continued lecturing, asking the students to repeat the proper incantation after her. 

When she seemed satisfied enough with the classroom, she asked them to work with their partners and practice the transfiguration. She didn't even seem to notice the small, skinny boy who was all alone. He thought about raising his hand and timidly began to do so, but then his fear of making himself known overwhelmed him, and he quickly put his hand back down. 

As the other students began to work, Professor McGonagall noticed that this particular boy was without a partner. She approached him and took a seat next to him. 

"Well, lad," she said gently, "it looks like you are without a partner. I will be your partner, then. Go on, give the spell a try." 

The boy's pale cheeks flushed for a moment, for no student wants his teacher to be his partner, especially if said teacher was coddling him. 

He nodded slowly and lifted his wand up, muttering the incantation. When nothing happened, he put his wand down hopelessly and looked at her expectantly. 

"Well," McGonagall urged. "Don't be so shy, then, Mr. Snape. You must give it another try, lad. Enuciate the words. Feel the power within you as you perform the incantation." 

Another try. Another failed attempt. 

By this point, McGonagall was losing some of her patience. She was kind but also strict and knew that every student had the potential to be a great witch or wizard. She hated to see a student allowing himself to be ruled by his fears. 

"You are not trying hard enough, Mr. Snape!" she exclaimed. "You must actually say the words, not merely mumble them, for the spell to work correctly." 

Her voice had attracted the attention of the rest of the classroom, and two of the Gryffindor boys, James Potter and Sirius Black, seemed especially interested in watching Severus as he tried to perform the transfiguration. A part of him wanted to prove himself to those around him, but another part of him was deathly scared of their eyes. It felt like every eye was on him, judging him, challenging him to only make a fool of himself once more in front of them, proving that he couldn't live up to their standards and would never be good enough in their eyes. 

Unable to control himself, tears welled up in young Severus's eyes. Completely humiliated, he tried to dash them away with his sleeves, but to only make matters worse, he wound up choking out a sob in the process. Laughter erupted from all around him. In that moment of humiliation, he wanted nothing more than to crawl into a hole and die. 

Without a word, he grabbed his books and ran out of the classroom, down the corridor, and hid behind one of the suits of armor. He didn't know what had happened in that classroom after he had left. He didn't want to know. He tried to convince himself that he didn't care. And so, he stayed there, huddled up in a corner behind the suit of armor, hiding himself in its shadow, hoping against hope that no one would see him. All he wanted was to be left alone. 

He had hoped that by coming to Hogwarts that he would be escaping humiliation and that penetrating feeling of helplessness, hopelessness, and worthlessness. His father had reminded him over and over again what he thought of him... that he would never measure up to his standards, that anything he did would never been good enough. His mother, on the other hand, never stood up to his father. Like Severus, she cowered under his words and demands... and also his hand. 

A few minutes later, classrooms began to empty out, bringing Severus back to the reality of things around him at the present moment. The voices of students echoed through the hallway, and Severus tried to pull himself further back into the shadows. Then, he overheard the voices of the two boys who would become his enemies in his school days. 

"Did ya see the look on his face?" James Potter's voice laughed. 

"Yeah!" Sirius Black's voice echoed back with laughter that very much sounded like barking. "From the moment I saw him yesterday, I knew he'd be a loser. His family's totally messed up. Don't have much money, either... for purebloods." 

Severus felt his blood boiling. Like Sirius Black could talk about messed up families! His temper flared, and Severus bolted out from behind the suit of armor, his wand out, and made to tackle Sirius. Sirius was taller and more sturdy, though, and wasn't easily knocked down. His balance was only thrown off for a moment, and before Severus could react, he felt a hand grab the back of his collar roughly, pulling him away from Sirius. 

"You'd do well to keep your slimy little Slytherin hands off him, Snape!" James yelled. 

Sirius had regained his composure and now was looking at Severus straight in the face. Severus tried to keep his face looking angry by glaring at the Gryffindor brute of a boy, but now he was seriously regretting having jumped out like he had at the larger boy. 

"Is something wrong?" Sirius mocked. "I'd say just from looking at you that there's plenty wrong with you, especially your face! Did you not know when to say 'when' when it came to noses? And what do you wash your hair with? Oil?" 

"Or maybe the little runt doesn't even wash his hair," James joked. 

Then, those accursed tears started to well up in Severus's eyes. 

"Oh, are you gonna cry?" Sirius asked in mock concern. 

"You little snivelling..." James began to say, but then stopped, as if an idea had hit him. "Hey... wait... Severus... Snivellus!" 

He started laughing hysterically at his own joke, as if he had never heard anything so funny in his entire life. Sirius, too, joined in on the laughter, only to be joined by several other students. The horrid laughter still echoed through his mind, years later, causing Snape to jolt awake in his own bed that night. 

He knew it was just a dream, but it was a dream that was only too real, and it was just like reliving his memories. Those were his memories. 

From a high, lone window in his bedroom, the first light of morning was filtering into the otherwise dark, dank room. Throwing his bed covers aside, Snape left the bed in order to prepare for the day ahead. He wondered why he was dreaming about his childhood again when he was getting ready. Everything that had happened within the past year had been practically unreal to him. Harry had told him that he respected him. He had essentially saved Lupin's life, not to mention the lives of many others. He had even been thanked by Sirius Black. 

Snape wasn't sure how he felt about all that. He had wanted positive recognition as a child, but as his life had grown worse and worse throughout the years, even after he had turned himself over to Dumbledore, he grew bitter and gave up on what he began to think of as only hopeless, pointless dreams. Dreams were for fools, or so he had convinced himself. Was it really too good to be true? He knew, though, that everything came with a price. Voldemort would suspect the betrayal of one of his Death Eaters. How else would Dumbledore and the Order have found out about the kidnapping of Harry and his friends a few weeks ago? Snape knew deep down that his days were numbered. They had to be. A spy lives a risky life. 

It wasn't necessarily that he wanted to die. That was certainly not the issue here, but Snape thought it too late in his life to adjust to changing circumstances, even if they were positive ones. Being looked upon favorably only made him feel uncomfortable, and he scowled to himself as he thought of the gratitude far too many people had felt toward him in the infirmary at the end of the previous school year. 

He wanted to blame Dumbledore for his benevolent, hopeful thoughts. He wanted to tell the old fool that he wasn't worth his concern or his understanding, but where would he be today, he asked himself, if he hadn't received Dumbledore's trust so many years ago? 

"Where indeed?" he asked himself, looking at his reflection in the mirror. He knew he wasn't a handsome man, certainly not a "pretty boy" like James and Sirius had been in their prime, but still... was he really so abominable that he had deserved those rude, harsh remarks he had received as a child? Snape never really cared much about physical appearance, and as such, avoided gazing at his reflection for too long in the mirror, but something appeared different today when he actually took the time to look long and hard at himself. 

If he wiped off the nearly-permanent scowl or sneer and pushed his hair away from his face, he realized that he really wasn't that ugly. Years of hiding behind unpleasant turns of the lip and contortions of the face and curtains of black hair had seemingly eased away, though just somewhat. He certainly was not ready to go about smiling, and he knew that his demeanor was naturally sarcastic and biting. However, in those once dark, endlessly cold eyes, Snape thought he saw life, a small glimmer of what? Hope? They weren't warm, exactly, but they weren't so cold, either. Maybe, just maybe... there was hope yet. 

Having stared at himself long enough, Snape left his chambers and proceeded to the Great Hall. The school term was thankfully a few weeks away, and so, only a few of the staff members would be at meals. Dumbledore was already seated in his usual place. 

"Good morning, Severus," he cordially greeted Snape. 

"Good morning, Albus," Snape replied, taking a seat. 

He ate in silence for a while, which he liked, when Dumbledore's kind wise interrupted, "Young Mr. Malfoy will be living at the school now." 

"Indeed?" Snape drawled, glancing at the old man. 

"Since his father's death, it has not been safe for him to be outside of the school. You know that he is going to be acting as a spy." 

Snape nodded, wondering if Dumbledore was passing the child off to him for some sort of training or whatnot. 

"He has too many family members involved in Voldemort's inner circle. The more he is near him, the easier it may be to raise suspicion. He is not yet prepared to handle the full responsibilities of being a proper spy, Severus." 

Dumbledore fixed him with one of those looks that challenged him to dare to question his authority. 

"With all due respect, sir," Snape murmured, "would not bringing Mr. Malfoy to Hogwarts, in the middle of the summer, no less, raise even more suspicion?" 

"Not if he has reason to be here," Dumbledore replied, winking. 

Snape hated the tone of voice Dumbledore was using. It could only mean... 

"You will be teaching him how to spy," Dumbledore added. "I have told him to tell his mother and extended family that he will be living at Hogwarts because he is to be an apprentice to you." 

"I beg your pardon?" Snape questioned, clearly annoyed. "And when was I to find out about this?" 

"You just have," Dumbledore said, smiling quite annoyingly, in Snape's opinion. "There have been too many holes in our plans, Severus," the Headmaster explained, his voice becoming serious again. "The attack on Harry's relatives proves that point. We cannot hope to win this war unless we are using everything and everyone we have at our disposal." 

"Of course, but will the Dark Lord not suspect that someone has betrayed him?" 

"You must make sure he doesn't," Dumbledore said, as if doing so were a cake job. 

Snape knew that arguing with Dumbledore would do no good, so he finished his breakfast and returned to his chambers, where he started to think about how he was supposed to prepare the next generation of Malfoy to be one of the good guys. Just when he thought he had finally proven himself useful, the Headmaster found something else for him to do. 

At Grimmauld Place, Harry awoke much later that day than Snape had. He could smell Mrs. Weasley's delicious cooking downstairs, and he felt and heard his stomach growl fiercely, demanding to be fed. As he went to put on his slippers, Harry realized that he was still wearing his shoes... and still dressed in the same clothes he had worn yesterday. Harry also noticed that Ron had already gotten up and left the room. Feeling grimy, Harry began to remove his dirty clothes and then slipped into a robe and went down the hallway into the bathroom. 

Stepping under the gentle flow of the warm water, Harry relished in the thought of being able to shower without having to worry about going over a time limit. There would be no annoying nags from his aunt Petunia or no roaring demands from his uncle Vernon. After he finished showering, Harry quickly dressed and headed downstairs to eat breakfast. Surrounded by his friends, who were definitely his surrogate family, Harry realized that he would never again have to sit by and watch as his cousin Dudley was given heaps of delicious food, while he was left with scraps in portions the size of a coin. 

Realizing that he didn't feel guilty made Harry start to feel guilty. The Dursleys had been terrible people, true enough, but they had essentially raised him and provided, albeit very little, for him over the years. For most of his life, they had been the only family he had ever known. It was a shame that he found it difficult to really feel much remorse for their demise. Maybe they had just been so afraid of magic that they had treated Harry badly in order to keep him from over-powering them. His aunt had kept her promise of watching Harry, despite his uncle's persistent threats to throw him out of the house. Maybe, just maybe, Harry realized, there still could have been hope for the Dursleys. 

He would never know now. In all truth, Harry knew that they had been innocent victims to Voldemort's plans. A part of him wanted to blame himself for being the reason they were targeted. 

_If I hadn't lived with them, they would never have been the victims of such an attack,_ Harry thought. All around him, his friends were talking, but Harry was finding himself lost in his thoughts. The fact that he couldn't properly grieve the loss of the Dursleys bothered him deep down. Still, Harry concluded that no one deserved such a fate as theirs... and then he grieved in his own quiet, private way. 


	34. Chapter ThirtyFour

Chapter Thirty-Four

Harry Potter had finally come of age in the wizarding world. He was seventeen years old, and for the first time in his life, he was surrounded by friends on his birthday. For the time being, Harry put the threat of Voldemort in the back of his mind and focused on just being a young man. Looking at himself in the mirror on the evening on his birthday, Harry noticed just how much he had changed over the years, not just physically, but inwardly as well. 

Despite the fact that Ron's growth spurts seemed never-ending, Harry had grown considerably taller over the past six years as well. He was probably a good four inches shorter than his best friend, but Ron was just expectionally tall. Between the nourishment at Hogwarts and from Mrs. Weasley's cooking, Harry's body had grown up and filled out. He was no longer the small, skinny runt of a kid he had been when he had lived entirely with the Dursleys. Playing Quidditch had certainly developed his muscles, but Harry was still on the thin side. 

One thing that hadn't changed a bit was his hair. As unruly as ever, Harry's hair still had a mind of its own. His eyes were still the same vibrant, amazing green they had always been, but there was something about them that spoke depths of what Harry had witnessed and experienced over the past few years. Lost was the childhood innocence that had once dwelled within those eyes. 

Harry turned away from the mirror when Ron walked into the room, though, humming some sort of ridiculous song that his twin brothers had fabricated as a "present for our esteemed honorary brother," they had told Harry. 

"Would you quit humming that song?" Harry laughed, grinning at Ron. "It's already stuck in my head. It'll be a small wonder if I can even get to sleep because of it." 

Ron laughed as well, saying, "It was pretty bad, wasn't it?" 

There was a popping sound, and Fred and George appeared in their room, scaring the wits out of the two younger boys. 

"Bad?" Fred inquired with mock hurt. "George, they're saying our little song is bad! Can you believe the injustice of it all?" 

"Unbelievable!" George exclaimed, feigning astonishment. He dramatically brought his hand up to his forehead. "We work all last night with our rare and incredible genius to come up with a fun and original song for Harry, and the bloke doesn't even appreciate all our hard work!" 

Shaking his head, Harry just chuckled, while Ron rolled his eyes. 

"I still say it was a work of art!" Fred persisted. "My favorite part was 'Though he's not so cute, glad he's not a mute. Knows it's rude to stare at a bloke wearin' ladies underwear!'" 

"Cut it out, guys!" Ron exclaimed. "That's downright horrid, and you bloody well know it!" 

"Ah, say what you will, little bro," said George knowingly, "but we've got this one down. It'll be sellin' what Muggles call 'records' in no time." 

"Actually," came Hermione's voice from the doorway, "records are pretty rare nowadays. CDs are what people listen to now." 

Harry was too amused to think one small bit about Voldemort. So, while Harry and his friends laughed, sang, and conversed, far away, Voldemort was calling his Death Eaters. 

This was Draco's first Death Eater meeting as a spy for the side of the Order, and to put it mildly, he was scared to death. The white mask he donned could only do so much to hide his anxiety, and despite Snape's constant reminders of keeping his composure calm, Draco was finding that none too easy. 

Snape and Draco had joined the other Death Eaters in a small open space in the middle of a dark and forbidding forest, much like the one near Hogwarts. Uneasy murmurs were heard dispersed throughout the gathering crowd. Everyone was wondering the same thing: What did the Dark Lord have to say after the most recent defeat? They truthfully didn't want to know. 

So when Voldemort appeared in the midst of them with a smile on his face, Draco found himself caught off guard and utterly confused. Why was he smiling after such defeat? Had Draco been among the ranks of the Death Eaters longer, he would have known the when the Dark Lord smiled in such a way, it was because he was very furious. His lipless smile was haunting and malicious and biting enough without any words or the sharp teeth encased within his mouth. 

The only light came from the tip of Voldemort's wand, an eerie, dim sickening-green glow that illuminated the branches of the skeletal trees nearby. There was not a sound to be heard. Not even the wind was blowing, and the air felt strangely chilled for midsummer. Snape conceded that this was due to whose presence they were in more than anything. 

"So," Voldemort finally said smoothly, his voice so low that it was barely audible, "you have at least obeyed one order I have given. You have come when you have been summoned." 

He paused, then continued, "Then again, it's not like you lot have much of a choice, now is it? Commands, orders, demands... are such things really too much to ask?" 

There was a note of danger in his tone. No one said a word. 

"I ordered Harry Potter to be brought to me, and so he was," Voldemort hissed suddenly, striking the proverbial nail on the head with the proverbial hammer. "But then something went wrong... very wrong." 

As Draco listened, the bratty child in him was almost tempted at this point to sneer, "No kidding," but he knew better. Such wrecklessness could and would cost him his life. 

"And just what do you think that could be, my minions?" Voldemort asked in a mock-conversational tone. 

The dramatic pause, then... 

"He escaped!" he bellowed, his words lashing out like a whip, punishing his Death Eaters one by one and then all together. "That old fool and his faithful band showed up yet again to conveniently save the day! This is the second time this has happened since my return to power, and I swear it on each and every one of your pitiful, plotless graves: It will NOT happen again!" 

The heat emanating off Voldemort could literally be felt by those all around. Snape knew what would be next. 

"Which leads me to believe that someone had tipped off Dumbledore," Voldemort concluded, confirming Snape's worst fear. 

At this point, Voldemort walked around the circle and carefully surveyed each and every one of his followers. He stopped in front of each one, looked him up and down, and then looked directly into his eyes. When he came at last to Snape, Snape knew that this could very well be the moment of truth. This could be the moment where everything he had worked for so hard for so many years could come crashing down, and his life was be ended... and all on account of foolish Harry Potter and foolish Severus Snape. His so-called mistakes had been his own to make, and in a way, he couldn't blame Harry too much for his mistakes, for they were innocent in comparison. 

Years upon years of blocking out the world came back to Snape, and he kept his outward appearance indifferent and calm. Although his mind would be racing later that night, his mind was a blank slate right now. It had to be, or else Voldemort would know everything: every plot Snape had revealed to Dumbledore, every bit of information he had relayed to the Headmaster, every regret he harbored for having joined the Death Eaters in the first place, every small and large amount of hatred he felt toward himself... everything. 

Thank Merlin, though, that Snape was the master at Occlumency that he was, or else he would not have been able to block out Voldemort even in such extreme circumstances. A part of him swore that he would personally see to it that Harry received detention every day for his whole seventh year for having put him through all this, but he knew that he was not justified in such thinking. Snape knew what his choices had been in his life, and damn it, he would take responsibility for them, even if it meant this. 

Finally, Voldemort released Snape from the seemingly-endless scrutiny. When Voldemort came to Draco, Snape held his breath for a moment, wondering how Draco would measure up. Draco had been learning the art of Occlumency as part of his spying duties, but only a couple of weeks into the training had hardly prepared him. Snape wondered if Draco even had the determination and skill it took to be a spy, and had he not been in the company of Death Eaters, Snape would have sworn at Dumbledore's appointment of him as a new spy. The very idea was still absurd to Snape. 

Voldemort, however, was not as inclined to put Draco through the same vigorous stare-down and mind reading that he had with many of the other Death Eaters. For this, Snape was thankful, and Draco was even more so. He had managed to withstand Voldemort's Legilimency just long enough to pass the test, so to speak. 

After he had finished scrutinizing every Death Eater, Voldemort simply said, "Make no mistake, my Death Eaters. If there is a traitor or traitors among us, he or they _will_ be found out. I have plans for Harry Potter and Dumbledore, but I think I will withhold such valuable information for the time-being." 

He smirked mirthlessly and downright cruelly at them, and Snape knew that Voldemort had enough suspicion to keep his mouth shut. He was playing a very dirty game and merely prolonging the process of weeding out the unwanted. With a dreadful feeling in the pit of his stomach, the meeting was ended, and Snape returned to Hogwarts. Draco wasn't far behind, but the boy had his own problems to worry about. 

"I nearly lost it," he muttered to Snape as they walked across the grounds back to the castle. 

"The important thing is that you did not lose your concentration, Draco," replied Snape, trying to sound encouraging. "Keeping out the Dark Lord is no easy feat." 

"I suppose so," Draco scowled, not convinced. "I just don't know how much longer-" 

"How much longer you can keep this up?" Snape finished for him. 

"Yes," Draco conceded, looking quizzically at Snape. 

"I know that feeling all too well," said Snape grimly. "Trust me, Draco. It is far from easy, but if you believe that what you are doing is worth it, then you will do everything you can to keep going at it. I realized a long time ago that this whole thing is much bigger than I am." 

"What thing?" asked Draco, confused. 

Opening the main door, Snape said, "Life, I suppose. Good and evil. The battle for power. All of it." 

Draco simply nodded tiredly and muttered his good night. That left Snape to reporting to Dumbledore alone and being the bearer of more bad news. 

An hour or so later, after he had finished speaking with Dumbledore, the Headmaster's last words to Snape echoed through his weary mind as he headed toward his chambers for bed: 

_"At least he did not harm you."_

August came and was nearly gone. Summer had rushed by before Harry had even realized it, and one morning, not long before the start of term, Mrs. Weasley bustled into the room he was sharing with Ron and started babbling nonstop about shopping for their books and supplies in Diagon Alley. 

"I know I've taken care of it in years past," she said, while picking up piles of dirty clothes and placing them into a basket for washing, "but sometimes it would be nice to have a little help around here, don't you boys think?" 

When neither Harry nor Ron gave any indication of having heard her, Mrs. Weasley dropped the basket of clothes on Ron while he was sleeping. Feeling a sudden weight hitting him in the stomach was not what Ron had expected. He had been half-awake during his mother's ranting, but had feigned sleep, hoping she was simply go away. Obviously, the determined woman would not be giving up that easily. 

"What the- ?" Ron asked in a muffled voice, sitting up. "What's goin' on?" 

"I'll tell you what's going on, Ronald Bilius Weasley," his mother lectured. "If you think for one minute that you're just gonna lie around here all day-" 

"What's this heavy load of- of-" he interrupted, but then Mrs. Weasley interjected before he could finish. 

"This heavy load of dirty, disgusting, absolutely filthy clothes is your mess, Ronald!" she shrieked. "And yours, too, Harry!" She turned to face Harry's bed as Harry groaned and sat up, staring at the scene before him. 

As Harry reached for his glasses, Mrs. Weasley continued, "Now, as I was saying, it would be nice if you lot would help out around here, but since that seems too much to ask, I am sending you all to Diagon Alley with your father to purchase what you need for school." 

"But... but isn't that a bit risky?" Ron asked, looking for an excuse to sleep more. 

Harry conceded that Ron had a good point. Now that he thought about it, he was surprised that Mrs. Weasley was even suggesting that they leave Grimmauld Place. 

"I've already spoken with Professor Dumbledore," Mrs. Weasley explained, "and he assured me that it would be safe. Wards have now been put in place around Diagon Alley to keep Dark characters out. Besides, you will be going with your father, and there will be other Order members posted throughout the streets nearby." 

Harry grinned. He wanted to finally be able to get out of this stuffy house and actually go somewhere, but the fact that wards had now been placed around Diagon Alley was disconcerting, telling just how serious the threat of Voldemort had become. Luckily, in the past couple of months, the Ministry of Magic had actually started taking the necessary precautions. With the new Minister of Magic in office, there was actually someone competent enough in power, but Harry didn't know much about the man. His name even eluded him at the moment, but his mind was on leaving Grimmauld Place, if only for a little while. 

Finally, Mrs. Weasley left. Harry smiled at Ron across the room, and even Ron couldn't help but to smile. Now that he was awake, the idea of leaving the house was much more appealing. Quickly, they dressed and headed downstairs for breakfast, only to walk into the kitchen as Mrs. Weasley was talking to her husband. 

"Yes, dear," she said exasperatedly. "Even _I_ realize we cannot keep them locked up forever. It's not healthy, after all." 

Mr. Weasley chuckled. "I thought I'd never live to hear you say that, Molly, what with how over-protective you are of them." 

"Over-protective?" she asked, truly shocked. "No, just protective, thank you." 

"So you say." 

Ron and Harry sat down, joining Ginny and Hermione at the table. The twins were already at their shop in Hogsmeade working. 

After a quick breakfast, for the excitement had built such that they couldn't wait to leave the house now, Harry and his friends Flooed to Diagon Alley. The streets were packed with people, hustling and bustling throughout the shops. One of the busiest times of the year for shopping in Diagon Alley was right before school started. Mr. Weasley stepped into a shop nextdoor to Flourish and Botts that sold Muggle items, saying he would meet them outside in fifteen minutes. 

In Flourish and Botts, Harry reviewed his list of books. The only books he needed were the _Book of Standard Spells, Grade Seven_ and a new book for Defense Against the Dark Arts, entitled _Advanced Defensive Magical Spells_. Having not heard any differently, Harry assumed that Lupin would still be teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, thus breaking the long-time curse on the supposedly jinxed position. 

Hermione had gone off on her own, browsing through some books in the section designed for those who were looking for books that were highly specialized and advanced beyond Hogwarts' levels. She seemed especially interested in the Transfiguration textbooks. She had explained to them that it was simply for some extra reading to keep her mind stimulated and for entertainment value. Harry and Ron had exchanged a look that asked, "Entertainment value?" To them, after all, they would find just as much entertainment value in Advanced Transfiguration textbooks as they would in watching flobberworms eat whatever it was they ate. 

In the midst of the crowded book shop, Harry thought he saw a familiar white-blonde head. Sure enough, when the head turned, the pointy face and pale eyes of Draco Malfoy were revealed. 

"Look," Harry whispered to Ron, gesturing toward the direction where Draco was standing and browsing through some books. 

Ron glared at Draco with narrowed eyes. 

"What's _he_ doin' in here?" he asked suspiciously. "Lookin' for trouble? I thought Dark wizards were supposed to be kept out of Diagon Alley." 

"According to Dumbledore," Harry murmured disbelievingly, "Malfoy's working for the Order now... as a spy." 

"What?!" Ron exclaimed, unable to help himself. 

"Shhh, keep your voice down, Ron," Ginny hissed, casting an uneasy look in Draco's direction. 

"He might hear you," Harry agreed. 

"Hear what?" sneered a cold voice from behind them. 

Harry had only turned his back to Draco for a moment, but it was long enough for him to approach Harry, Ron, and Ginny. Ginny let out a little yelp of surprise, but Ron glowered loathingly at Draco and stepped in front of his sister and Harry. 

"None of your business, Malfoy," he said aggressively, his teeth clenched, his fists balled. 

"Oh, but I think it is my business if you're talking about _me_," Draco insisted. 

"Yeah? And what are you gonna do about it?" Ron asked, taking a step toward Draco. "If you think for one minute that you've got us fooled-" 

"Ron, shut it," suddenly camed Hermione's voice. 

"Hermione," Ron muttered angrily, "don't get involved." 

"What, are you standing up for _him_ now?" Ron asked incredulously, glaring between Hermione and Draco. 

"I heard what Harry said," Hermione said simply, "and if it's true, then maybe you should give him the benefit of the doubt. After all, Dumbledore is almost always correct, and you all know that Dark wizards are not allowed in Diagon Alley." 

"I don't need you trying to act all noble and defending me, Mudbl-" Draco began, but Ron was faster with his fists than Draco was with his mouth. 

In an instant, Ron had tackled Draco onto the ground and had punched Draco squarely in the jaw. The crowd nearby stopped and stared, several gasps coming from the women. 

"Say it again, Malfoy!" he yelled. "I dare you! Come on!" 

"Ron!" Hermione and Ginny yelled, trying to pull him off. 

Ron wouldn't listen to them, though. He kept his eyes fixed on Draco's face and the bruise that was now evident on his skin. 

"Ron," came Harry's voice, sounding rather calm, "just leave it, okay?" 

"What?" asked Ron unbelievingly. "You can't be serious! After everything he's put us through... said to us..." 

"I know," Harry said, "but that's... in the past." 

Those words were difficult for him to say, but Harry had come to believe the people really could change if they tried and were willing. In spite of everything, he was letting down his guard and trusting that Dumbledore was right in seeing more in Draco than just the bad. 

After several long minutes, Ron finally released Draco and stood back up. Draco stood up as well, although uneasily and stared at Harry and the others in a mix of disbelief, unease, and still some resonating hatred. For a brief moment, his greyish blue eyes caught Harry's green ones. Harry wasn't completely sure, but he thought there was a hint of understanding there. 

Without another word, Draco turned and stalked out of the shop. 

Lupin entered the Leaky Cauldron and looked around. No one looked overly suspicious, but nonetheless, he was supposed to be keeping an eye out for strange activity or unusual behavior. Taking a seat at the bar, Tom, the barkeeper brought his his usual drink: plain Muggle vodka on the rocks. Lupin sipped slowly at his drink, casually casting glances around the room every so often. 

He smiled slightly to himself, remembering how Sirius had insisted on coming along, and so, Portrait Sirius was shrunk down into Wallet-Sized Sirius and placed into one of the pockets of Lupin's shabby traveling cloak. With a slight start, Lupin moved over when someone sat down next to him. 

"Severus?" Lupin asked, surprised to see Snape had taken the seat next to him. 

"Lupin," Snape said simply, raising his eyebrows. He honestly had not noticed Lupin when he had chosen his seat. 

"The usual?" Lupin inquired cryptically. 

"The usual" meant the usual drink and the usual reason for being more or less stationed in this particular pub. 

Snape only slightly nodded and took the glass of firewhiskey obligingly as soon as Tom had placed it there. 

There was an awkward silence. Snape and Lupin had seen each other fairly frequently during the past few weeks, both being Order members and all, but they had not really spoken, save for the simple greetings and farewells. Snape shifted uncomfortably now, wishing he had not sat down right next to Lupin. It wasn't that he hated Lupin; it was just too strange to be sitting next to the man who had almost, albeit unknowingly, killed him as a teenager so many years before, yet also the same man whose life he had saved not so very long ago. 

"You know," Lupin sighed, "I must admit that it feels strange." 

"Strange?" Snape inquired, truly at a loss. 

"To not, you know, transform anymore," he said in a low voice. 

"I would not know," Snape muttered, turning his eyes away from Lupin's. 

"Thank you again, Severus." 

There were those accursed words again. Those words of thanks and appreciation. Snape bit his tongue to avoid saying anything scathing and mumbled, "Think nothing of it." 

"Nothing?" Lupin persisted, to which Snape was now very much regretting having taken a seat right there. "It's hardly nothing, Severus. It was and is my life, you realize." 

"Fine, fine, have it your way, Lupin. Please, for the love of Merlin, please stop thanking me already. The potion had already been developed, after all... It was not that difficult." 

"But you are the one responsible for developing that potion." 

"Yes, so?" 

"Never mind," Lupin muttered, realizing that he was getting no where. From within Lupin's pocket, Sirius was listening to every word, but he was too interested in the conversation to intervene. 

Snape drained his glass, paid the tab, and made to leave, but as he stood up, he suddenly felt a hand gripping his arm. 

"Wait," Lupin insisted, looking at Snape in the eye. 

Snape pulled his arm away and stared back at Lupin. "Well?" he asked impatiently. 

"Please just call me Remus. Don't you think it's time you overcame formalities?" 

Snape wasn't sure if he was ready to overcome anything at the moment. A part of him wanted to make a run for it and avoid all contact with the former Marauder. He had never been one to have close connections with anyone, and thus refrained from being on a first name basis. It was simply too common and personal, but everything right now had become personal. Saving another man's life was at the top of the personal list. 

"Fine, _Remus_," Snape sneered. "Good day." 

Watching Snape's retreating back, Lupin smiled to himself and took another swig of his vodka. 

_There's a first for everything._


	35. Chapter ThirtyFive

Chapter Thirty-Five

Harry had gone to bed that night with a smile spread across his face, for tomorrow he would be returning to Hogwarts for his final year and would see many of his friends again. True, he had spent most of the summer with Ron and Hermione, but to be back within the walls of the castle again that had become his home these past six years was always a welcoming, reassuring thing. The world outside could change, but inside Hogwarts, nearly everything seemed to bring that comfort to Harry's heart and mind that only home could bring. 

He thought about what he would do after Hogwarts, finding it hard to believe that his last year was upon him already. It truly seemed like yesterday when he had been entering those large oaken doors for the first time, filing into the Great Hall with all the other first years, looks of trepidation upon their innocent, young faces, and had the Sorting Hat placed on his head. 

Although Harry was smiling, there was still sadness in his heart, for leaving Hogwarts would be leaving behind so much of what had become his life. The ever-looming threat of Voldemort had settled inside Harry long ago, and so, the niggling feeling of having to ultimately defeat him was always present. To put it simply: He was used to that feeling by now. 

But none of this could have prepared Harry for what was about to happen this night. 

Once all the youngsters had gone to sleep, Dumbledore had shown up on the front doorstep of Grimmauld Place. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley, followed closely by Lupin, had invited him in, and they were now sitting around the kitchen table, cups of tea clenched in their hands. As Dumbledore lifted the tea cup with his knobby knuckles to his mouth, he cast a glance over at the door. 

"I daresay the others should be arriving shortly," he murmured. "I understand that it is late, but I felt the need for this meeting to be kept quiet." 

From his portrait perched on one of the rickety wooden chairs, Sirius grimaced. 

"I still think Harry should have been allowed to sit in on this meeting," he grumbled. "He is, after all, officially part of the Order now." 

"The risk may be too great," Dumbledore insisted, albeit gently. "We cannot risk Harry telling his friends, even Miss Granger or Mr. Weasley." 

Solemn nods followed, and then the door to the kitchen opened, and in walked Minerva McGonagall, Severus Snape, Alastor Moody, Nympadora Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and even Rubeus Hagrid, who had to bend his head down to avoid hitting it on the doorframe. 

"Well, we're all here, Albus," said Snape moodily, clearly annoyed at the late hour. "What does this meeting concern?" 

"The reason I have called this meeting is to discuss ensuring the protection of all the students within the walls of Hogwarts this upcoming year," Dumbledore stated gravely, fixing everyone with a firm look. "As you all know, Voldemort has been growing more and more powerful..." 

Meanwhile, Harry's composure had changed drastically since he had first put his head to the pillow a couple of hours previously. He tossed and turned in the bed, throwing the sheets about, and finally kicking them off the bed entirely. The whole while, Ron was sleeping soundly, his usual snores echoing off the cracked walls from his corner of the room. 

He was standing in some darkened room, surrounded by a select few of Voldemort's followers. They were clad in their usual attire, and so, Harry couldn't see their faces, but he knew from the voice who the Death Eater was who was bowing reverently in front of him. 

"My Lord," she said gratefully, "I am always here to do your bidding, and whatever you ask of me, I will fulfill." 

Harry could feel the disappointment, which soon boiled into anger within the pit of his stomach. Through narrowed eyes, he replied as Voldemort, "You disappointed me over a year ago, Bella, at the Department of Mysteries, when you failed to do away with the Potter boy once and for all and when you failed to bring me the Prophecy." 

Such hatred that Harry could not even comprehend was filling him, ready to spill over if he didn't release it soon. 

"You whole lot are a disappointment," Voldemort hissed, right before hitting all four people kneeled at his feet with the Cruciatus Curse. 

They screamed and writhed with pain for a minute, and then that high, cold voice spoke again. "This year, make no mistake. They will fall. All of them, especially Dumbledore and Potter. I have my means, oh, yes, I do. Isn't that right, Harry?" 

Harry was aware of everything, and when Voldemort suddenly addressed him directly, he started, physically sitting up in bed. 

"You know?" Harry heard himself asking from somewhere within the confines of his mind. 

"Oh, yes, my boy," Voldemort sneered, "I know. Having fun sharing minds, are you? Thought you were finally rid of me, did you? Ah, just because I haven't entered into such consciousness as of late doesn't mean I still wasn't able to do so." 

Harry was stunned into silence and totally unable to stop himself as he stood up and left the room. He walked down the hallway, and even though everything was blurred without his glasses, Voldemort, seeing through his very eyes, could make out everything well enough to finally make his way down the stairs and down the hallway, until he stopped just outside the door to the kitchen. 

Deep within his mind, Harry was trying very hard to resist, but this was worse than the Imperius Curse... much worse and easily a hundred times stronger. With the connection between Harry and Voldemort being what it was, Voldemort had somehow managed to catch Harry off-guard when he had been sleeping, and in Harry's weakened state, the Dark Lord had been able to control him completely. 

The door to the kitchen was cracked open just enough for Harry and Voldemort to peak in, but they would be able to overhear everything that was being said. 

Finally, Harry was able to say, although only in his mind, for his body was sleepwalking, "Moody has that magical eye, you realize. He'll see me standing here in a heartbeat... and how is it we're able to hear what they're saying? Surely Dumbledore won't have just left the room unwarded..." 

"Ah, you fool of a boy," Voldemort mocked. "You think I haven't prepared for such things? Perhaps you are not the powerful wizard everyone believes you to be if you can't even figure out that I, the most powerful Dark wizard, am easily able to overcome such childish charms." 

Then, Harry was thrown back into silence, but as Voldemort listened, Harry was painfully aware of everything. 

Dumbledore was discussing ways to strengthen the already very strong wards surrounding Hogwarts, much of his words and descriptions of spells being too advanced for Harry's comprehension. Voldemort, on the other hand, knew all too well much of what Dumbledore was talking about, and he was no doubt planning how to overcome Dumbledore's spells even now. 

Eventually the meeting ended, and Voldemort made sure that Harry was removed from the door just in time. 

"Well, this has been very enlightening, my boy," Voldemort remarked. 

Harry could feel him smirking. 

"I thank you, oh... and one more thing: _Obliviate!_

Harry didn't see a wand flung as the memory charm was placed on him. He didn't feel Voldemort leave him. He opened his eyes, finding himself in his bed, having no recollection that Voldemort had even been one with him just moments ago. 

Yawning, Harry reached for his glasses and padded down the hallway to the bathroom. His mind was fuzzy and otherwise blank, the usual grogginess associated with waking up in the middle of the night when nature calls. 

While Harry was sitting aimlessly on the toilet, Voldemort was laughing hysterically at what he had just found out. Harry felt the sudden twinge of his scar burning his forehead and wondered what Voldemort knew. 

_Why's he so bloody happy?_ he thought drowsily. 

Then, realizing just what was happening, Harry's eyes widened, the full effect of this sudden feeling overtaking him. He finished up hastily in the bathroom and returned to his room, but the pain was already easing away from his scar. 

_This isn't the first time this has happened. Voldemort must be really excited about something, but what? I'll make sure to tell Dumbledore first thing when I get to Hogwarts tomorrow. If anything, maybe he can help._

Harry barely slept the remainder of the night, and when morning dawned, Mrs. Weasley's loud, demanding voice was already filling the house, practically shaking it from the very foundation. 

"Wake up! Wake up, you lot!" she called. 

Harry could hear her footsteps going down the hallway. Then came a resounding knocking on the bedroom door. 

"Harry! Ron! Are you up in there?" her voice asked. 

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," Harry called back, as Ron mumbled nearly incoherently, "Yes'm." 

As Harry pulled on a clean shirt, Ron was just sitting up in bed, rubbing at his eyes sleepily. He was glancing around the room in a daze, his eyes squinted. 

"Argh, it's way too bloody bright in here," he complained, yawning. "The train doesn't even leave for another four hours, and she wants us up!" 

Harry shrugged. He felt compelled to tease Ron about maybe needing glasses with the way he was squinting that morning, but most of his mind was too preoccupied with what had happened during the night. 

Ron noticed Harry's silence as they prepared their bags and took them downstairs. Stopping him just at the top of the stairs, Ron asked, "What's up, Harry? You all right?" 

"Erm," Harry replied, looking at his dirty shoes, "yeah... well... sorta." 

"Uh-huh," Ron said sarcastically. "Really convincing, mate. C'mon, tell me." 

"Tell you what?" came Hermione's voice, and looking up, Harry watched as Ginny and she approached them. 

"It's nothing new," Harry blurted. "My scar just hurt last night, and, well, Voldemort's happy... really happy... about something." 

Hermione regarded Harry carefully. "Yes, it's happened before, Harry, but not too recently. Maybe you should-" 

"I'm gonna tell Dumbledore, okay?" he said exasperatedly. "Just... don't worry about it. There's nothing we can do right now." 

Inside his mind, though, Harry was longing to do something. He had received his Apparation License over the summer, along with Ron and Hermione, and right now, Harry wanted nothing more than to apparate to the site of Voldemort, but the only problem was that he had no idea where that location would be. 

_I suppose that's one advantage to having a Dark Mark,_ he thought wryly. _That'd take me right where I want to be._

Then Harry wondered if he really wanted to be in the company of Voldemort. It was a constant battle inside of him, fighting over wanting to ultimately destroy the Dark Lord or wanting to avoid him at all costs, hoping to perhaps live a "normal" life, but as long as Voldemort was in the world, Harry knew his life would never be normal. 

"Okay," Hermione said quickly, wanting to avoid a heated discussion. "Let's just get downstairs, then, and have some breakfast." 

"Sounds good to me," Ron quipped, always thinking about food. 

Harry followed his friends downstairs to the kitchen, where Mrs. Weasley had prepared a wonderful breakfast, as usual. Besides Lupin, Tonks was present as well. 

"Wotcher, Harry," she said, smiling. "All right, then?" 

"Yeah, I'm all right," Harry replied, feigning a cheery face. Not wanting to draw any more attention to himself, Harry focused on his plate. 

"I can't believe it's your last year at Hogwarts," Mrs. Weasley said proudly, although a trace of sadness was present in her tone. "It seems like just yesterday when you were a wee lad, Ron, and I was changing your diapers and-" 

"Mum!" Ron exclaimed, blushing in embarrassment. 

"Well, it's true," she persisted. "Just you wait until you have children. You'll find yourself saying the same thing." 

Ron wanted to roll his eyes, but thought it best not to give his mother a reason to reprimand him. Most of the meal continued on in silence, but toward the end, Tonks suddenly said, "Wow, first day back already. Seems like summer just got started, doesn't it? It's sure been a busy day, already having had that me-" 

"Ahem!" Mr. Weasley interjected, mock-clearing his throat and looking at Tonks pointedly. 

Mrs. Weasley appeared like she was about to shove a bar of soap or otherwise Scorgify Tonks's mouth. Lupin looked shocked, while Sirius looked like he was trying far too hard to appear innocent. 

"Yes, that meeting at work _yesterday_ did seen rather important, didn't it?" Mr. Weasley asked, keeping his eyes firmly on Tonks. 

"Meeting at-? Oh, yes," Tonks said, smiling pathetically. "Rather boring, though." 

Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione and found them staring back at him. It was all too obvious that there was something that the adults weren't saying, and just as Ron opened his mouth to ask, Mrs. Weasley literally shoved a sausage in it, saying, "You still look hungry, Ron. Have another." 

Knowing that it would be pointless to ask questions, Harry finished breakfast. Since everything was already packed, they decided it best to head for the train station. Just as they had done two years ago, they walked there. 

They arrived with plenty of time to spare. Harry sat restlessly on a bench in the station, desperating longing to talk with Ron and Hermione about what it was they thought the adults were hiding from them. Finally, at ten-thirty, they proceeded through the invisible barrier to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters and boarded the train. 

Wishing the Weasleys and Tonks goodbye, the teenagers and Lupin boarded the train. Lupin took a compartment to himself, keeping the now shrunken picture of Sirius in his pocket. Unfortunately for Harry, he knew that Ron and Hermione would have to eventually move to the Prefects' compartments before the ride started, but with the remaining time left, they sat all in the same compartment, the door shut, and spoke in hushed voices. 

"So, what d'you all reckon that was about?" Ron asked. 

No one had to ask was "that" was, for Ginny, Hermione, and Harry had all be wondering the same thing. 

"Yes, what are they hiding?" Ginny inquired. "Do you think there was a secret meeting or something?" 

"It sounds that way," Hermione agreed, nodding. "Harry, maybe when you go to speak with Dumbledore about your scar hurting last night, you can ask him if he knows anything about a meeting. It seems more than likely that those two things would be connected, don't you think?" 

"I think so," Harry confirmed, unconsciously rubbing his scar. "I think so." 


	36. Chapter ThirtySix

Chapter Thirty-Six

Most of the trip to Hogsmeade was in the rain, much like it had been during Harry's third year. As landscapes drifted past outside the window, Harry's eyelids grew heavy, and the voices of Neville, Luna, and Ginny in the background grew faint. 

Suddenly, Harry felt someone shaking him and Ginny's voice saying, "Harry, Harry, wake up; we're nearly there." 

"Mmm?" asked Harry's muzzled voice as he opened his eyes and stared at Ginny's blurry form. 

"Oh, Harry," she practically scolded, giving him a rough shake, "get your eyes open already and get your robes on. We're all of about five minutes from pulling into the station." 

"Oh, right," Harry mumbled, finally sitting up as his eyes refocused and could now see his friends clearly. 

"You didn't miss much," Neville said. "Did you have a nice nap, Harry?" 

"You sound like Ron," Harry chuckled softly. 

For a few minutes, Harry had forgotten about his scar and the secret meeting the night before, but it only took Luna's large eyes resting in an unsettling way upon him for those thoughts to come rushing back, consuming his mind once more. 

"What?" Harry asked Luna. 

"Oh, nothing," she said airily, shrugging. "It's just that since my uncle took over Daddy's newspaper, it's been so hard to come by any good news. You know, Harry, all this speculation you're having now about You-Know-Who would make for a great cover story." 

Luna, who Harry remembered had lost her father to Voldemort and the Death Eaters the previous Christmas, was shocked at how easily she was able to overcome the loss of her only parent. Like Harry, she was an orphan, and for a while, she had no home to go to, until Dumbledore was finally able to track down her long-lost uncle, her father's brother, who had been travelling the world for several years. The man had agreed to make permanent residence in Britain and serve as Luna's guardian until she came of age. He had already, apparently, taken over editting _The Quibbler_. 

"Eh," Neville said warily, "I don't know if that's such a good idea." 

Harry could understand Neville's reluctance on the subject, but he also thought that Luna had a good point. After all, it had been an article during his fifth year in _The Quibbler_ that had featured an interview with him and the return of Voldemort that had convinced several people in the wizarding community before the Ministry had even acknowledged Voldemort's return. 

"Only problem is," Harry sighed, "we don't know what's really going on." 

With another shrug from Luna, the train pulled into the station at Hogsmeade, and the students began filtering out of the train and onto the platform, where they were promptly told to find a carriage. Harry saw Hagrid directing the first years toward the boats that would carry them across the lake and waved at him before stepping into a carriage. 

Harry shared the carriage with the same people he had sat on the train with, and with Ginny sitting right next to him, he was not surprised when he felt her small hand reach for his. 

"Look at it," she said, nodding toward the castle in the distance. "No matter how many times we return, it's always like seeing it for the first time again." 

"Yeah..." 

Just as it had always appeared, Hogwarts stood majestically against the night sky. The safe haven for Harry had become his true home these past six years, and with a heavy heart, Harry knew that as the carriage drew closer and closer to the castle, the time drew closer and closer to the official start of his last and seventh year. 

After several minutes, the carriages pulled up in front of the main entrance, and Harry, with the other students, exited the carriages and proceeded up the stairs to the open doors. Harry could see Ron and Hermione fulfilling their roles as prefects by helping the younger students toward the castle doors. 

Upon entering the castle, Harry noticed that Draco Malfoy was standing not too far away, a smug look on his face. 

"Well, well, the infamous Potter returns to Hogwarts after a nice, cozy summer," the blonde-haired boy drawled. 

"What's it to you, Malfoy?" Harry muttered. He knew Draco was working for the side of Light now, but that obviously didn't stop him from being a prat. 

With a firm hold on Harry's hand, Ginny pulled him back. 

"Leave it, Harry," she warned. "He's not worth it." 

"No," Draco said, taking a step toward them, "I'd like to answer your question, Potter. What's it to me, you ask? I'll tell you what having a nice summer would have been for me, had I been able to have one, but unlike you, I had duties to perform." 

"It's not my fault you chose to take that mark on your arm," Harry said evenly to Draco. "Maybe you should've thought about the consequences of your actions _before_ you made that decision." 

"It's not like I had a choice, now is it?" Draco sneered, turning away. "Unlike you and your honorable house, Potter, Slytherin has been spat upon and trampled bare. My father had expectations, and as his son, I was expected to follow, but then again, what would you know about having a father, Potter?" 

That last comment stung Harry to the core. He made to reach for his wand, but Ginny's hand was tightly wound around his wrist with a strength Harry didn't know she possessed. 

"Harry," she warned, glaring at him straight in the eyes. "Come on. The ceremony is about to begin." 

Heaving a large sigh of annoyance and frustration, Harry relented and went with Ginny into the Great Hall, where most of the students were already seated. Meanwhile, Draco stood off in the distance from the others, not feeling like he belonged to any house. 

The Slytherin boy watched from his position near the doorway as Professor McGonagall practically paraded the first years into the Great Hall, and he was tempted to roll his eyes at the timid looks on their young faces and the whole ridiculous, in his opinion, manner in which they were led into the Great Hall... year after exhausting year. 

After all the first years were assembled in the Great Hall, the ceremony began, and the usual protocol was followed as the Sorting Hat was placed onto a stool, where it began to sing that year's Sorting Song: 

_Put me on your head, and I'll tell you where to go,  
Which house you will belong to,  
Which qualities you will show  
In all you say and do.  
I wonder now where you'll be  
In just a few seconds  
After you've worn me?  
A decision now beckons,  
So let me decide:  
Is it Gryffindor, the brave,  
Where you will reside?  
Or is it ambition you crave?  
So, then Slytherin will be your place.  
If you are loyal of heart,  
You will be in Hufflepuff with grace,  
And finally, one more part  
Of the four houses of Hogwarts,  
Ravenclaw is for the intelligent.  
Study the Light, not the Dark Arts,  
And be students ever-so-diligent,  
For the time draws ever-near,  
And we never know quite when  
The Dark Lord will appear,  
But soon his reign will end.  
Stick together, stand as one,  
Down the path embark;  
Make his terrible acts undone,  
And leave your own true mark._

After the Sorting Hat had finished singing its song, the first years were sorted in a matter of fifteen minutes, and then Dumbledore stood up and made his usual welcoming speech. Most of what was going on around Harry went in one ear and out the other, for after so many years of experiencing practically the same thing every year, it grew old. Harry knew the rules, even though he oftentimes broke them, but not without good reason, of course. However, near the end of his speech, Dumbledore's powerful voice echoed some words throughout the Great Hall that alarmed several of the students present. 

"You all have known for over two years now that Voldemort has returned, and it is only a matter of time before he strikes again. For too long, we have gone on as if nothing has changed, at least many of us have, but things have drastically changed. For those of you who have lost friends and family to his cause, you know all too well what Voldemort is capable of. If you have not heeded my advice in the past, I strongly suggest you do so now, for you never know when Voldemort may choose to strike. It could be when you least expect it." 

Harry knew this already, which was all the more reason for him to talk to Dumbledore as soon as possible about his scar hurting, knowing that Voldemort was overly happy about something. With a few murmurs, the students all around began talking, until their voices were so loud that they filled the room. 

Harry rushed through the meal, all the while receiving looks of disgust from Hermione, Ginny, and the other girls nearby. 

"Have you considered even chewing your food, Harry?" Hermione asked in a motherly voice. 

Amused, Ron said, "Hey, for once, she's lecturing you about eating habits instead of me." 

"You're not much better, Ronald," Hermione retorted, rolling her eyes. 

"Sorry," Harry said while a mouthful, which received more annoyed looks. He swallowed the mouthful of potatoes and meat. "I'm rather in a hurry. You know I need to talk to Dumbledore about you-know-what." 

"All right, then, you're excused this time, Harry," Hermione smirked. 

"But just this once," added Ginny, kissing him playfully on the cheek. 

That kiss made Harry want to stay with his friends, but he knew that he would have to talk to Dumbledore sooner rather than later. However, gorging himself to death was not an effective means to ease his anxiety, and Dumbledore probably wouldn't even be in his office until the entire feast of over. 

Finally, students began to leave the Great Hall to retire for the night. As Harry stood up, he noticed that Dumbledore was still seated at the head table. Trying to make eye contact with him, Harry hoped to gain his attention, but Dumbledore was engrossed in conversation with McGonagall beside him. 

Somewhat resignedly, Harry left the Great Hall. Ginny managed to catch up with him. 

"Hey, you could have waited for me," she pointed out, sounding a little hurt, but more annoyed. 

"I'm sorry, Ginny," Harry replied, only half-looking at her as he continued to walk. "You know I've got a lot on my mind." 

"Yeah, I know, but don't you go forgetting that you _do_ have people around you who care about you, Harry. Don't wind up acting like you did last year, okay?" 

Ginny gave him a look that dared him to challenge her words, but giving her a half-hearted smile, Harry said, "Don't worry, Ginny, I won't. I promise." 

When they arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady, Ron and Hermione were already standing there with the first years and were giving the password to the portrait. The portrait swung open, revealing the portal to the Gryffindor common room. Harry found himself losing his patience as he waited for the first years and a few other students who were ahead of him to enter first, but once he was in, he said good night to Ginny with a quick kiss and dashed up the stairs to his dormitory. 

Making sure that everything was there and in place, Harry made to leave when Ron walked into the room. 

"Hey, mate," he greeted Harry. "Leaving so soon?" 

"Well, Dumbledore has to return to his office at some point, right?" Harry asked. Realizing that he didn't know the password, Harry added, "Hey, d'you know the password to Dumbledore's office this year?" 

"Well, yeah," Ron stuttered. "It's, er, Chocolate Frogs. Another candy name." 

"Thanks," Harry uttered so quickly as he ran out of the room that Ron didn't even have a moment to answer. 

Ignoring the students around him, Harry left the Gryffindor common room faster than he had come and walked as quickly as he could without breaking into a run down the corridors and stairs to Dumbledore's office. 

Practically out of breath by the time he reached the Headmaster's office door, Harry said between gasps for air, "Chocolate Frogs," and the door opened, revealing the revolving staircase, which Harry immediately stepped on and was carried up to Dumbledore's office. 

He knocked on the door a couple of times, but there was no answer. 

_Don't tell me he's still in the Great Hall. What's taking him so long?_

Harry tentatively jiggled the handle, and the door actually creaked open. The room was dark at first, but the moment Harry stepped into the room, sconces lining the walls and the grate became alive with fire. As Harry continued to walk across the room, several of the portraits of Hogwarts's previous headmasters and headmistresses eyed Harry suspiciously. 

One in particular, Phineas Nigellus, kept his eyes on Harry all the way from the doorway to the chair Harry chose to take a seat in. 

"Just make yourself at home, why don't you?" he sneered. 

Looking in the direction of Phineas's portrait, Harry glowered. "Oh, it's you." 

"Is that any way to greet an old friend?" Phineas asked sarcastically. 

Rolling his eyes, Harry chose not to respond. 

"Of course, you are the Boy Who Lived, after all, meaning that you feel yourself entitled to special privileges. Hmmm, breaking into the Headmaster's office without his consent must be one of them." 

"I didn't 'break in,'" Harry scowled. "I knew the password." 

"But did you receive the password from Dumbledore himself?" Phineas's aggravating voice persisted. 

"It doesn't concern you," Harry muttered, fully turning away from the portrait. 

Phineas was just about to give another snide remark when Dumbledore entered the office. 

"Ah, Harry, I thought I might find you here." 

Schooling his eyes onto the Headmaster's form as he strolled across the room, Harry simply nodded. 

"I needed to talk to you about something." 

"So I gathered from the way you were behaving during the welcoming feast. Were you even able to enjoy the food, my boy?" Dumbledore asked innocently. 

"The food was great," Harry mumbled. 

With a nod, Dumbledore said, "Well, Harry, what is it you wanted to tell me?" 

"My scar, sir. It was burning last night, and I knew Voldemort was really happy about something." 

The look on Dumbledore's normally placid face was unsettled, and upon seeing this, Harry's stomach dropped. If Dumbledore was reacting in this manner, whatever Voldemort knew was not good... for them, at least. 

"What else do you know, Harry?" Dumbledore questioned, eyeing Harry closely, for someone as old and experienced as Dumbledore could read most people like a child's book. 

"There was a secret meeting last night. An Order meeting." 


	37. Chapter ThirtySeven

Chapter Thirty-Seven

At first, Dumbledore did not reply. Keeping his blue eyes firmly on Harry, Harry felt the heat of that penetrating stare go right through him. Harry knew that Dumbledore was a master Legilimens, and as Harry stared unblinkingly back, he allowed the aged wizard full access to his mind if he so wanted it. 

Dumbledore, however, was not trying to read Harry's mind. 

"How do you know this?" came the words finally. 

"Don't be mad at her, sir, but Tonks accidently slipped on her words this morning," Harry said feebly. 

Some relief came across Dumbledore's face, but then, putting two and two together, of which Dumbledore was perfectly capable and excelled at doing, the relief left him as quickly as it had come. Voldemort's insane happiness and a secret Order meeting occurring on the same night were too much to be a mere coincidence. 

"I wonder, Harry, if I might glean something from your mind." 

Now, Harry was sure that Dumbledore's suspicions were much as his own had been. He was not too thrilled at the prospect of having his mind read, for it was unnerving, no matter who was doing the reading, simply to have an outsider peering into one's mind was unsettling. On the other hand, Harry's curiosity had risen to an unthinkable height by this point in time, and so, it was with reluctance and anxiety simultaneously that Harry eventually surcame with a simple, short, "Yes." 

Unlike Snape, Dumbledore did not need to employ his wand to perform the necessary spell, nor did Harry even hear Dumbledore utter the incantation. This proved once again just how powerful Dumbledore truly was, and any time Harry had witnessed the old man's awesome powers, he stood in amazement and also somewhat in fear. Great power, no matter who yielded it, was both a wondrous and terrible thing. 

Memories Harry didn't know he had surfaced, but they were disjointed and blurred. It was as if he had been intoxicated during the process of them and that they had happened years ago and had long since been forgotten. Dumbledore knew what he was probing for what he had entered Harry's mind, and as the scenes played out in front of him, Dumbledore's suspicions were confirmed. There was enough evidence. 

"It is as I thought," he said gravely. "You have seen the visions, Harry." 

"Yes, but... sir, I honestly don't remember even doing that..." 

Shaking his head, Dumbledore said, "That is because Voldemort has Oblivated your memory, Harry, of him having possessed your mind last night... having possessed your mind just long enough to gather the information he needed." 

"But how?" Harry asked in shock. "How could he have known where I was, what was going on, how to get through the protective spells?" 

"Voldemort is gaining in power by the day, Harry," Dumbledore sighed, rubbing his temples wearily. "I am afraid that not even I can totally protect his victims from attack. His network of connections infiltrates the Ministry and the wizarding society as a whole, and if he was able to penetrate the wards on Grimmauld Place, then it is only a matter of time because he figures out how to penetrate the wards that protect Hogwarts." 

"But," Harry sputtered anxiously, standing up from his seat and beginning to pace, "how- how can you say that?! Are you admitting defeat already? Sir, with all due respect, that is the most absurd thing I've ever heard you say. If you know that he's overheard your meeting, then can't you outsmart him and place additional wards on Hogwarts that you didn't mention at the meeting?" 

Dumbledore frowned. "Harry," he said gently, "please sit down." 

"No!" Harry exclaimed, his eyebrows arched in anger. "We've got to do something! We've got to act! We can't just sit here waiting for him to attack us!" 

"Harry," Dumbledore said firmly, "take your seat, and we will discuss this rationally." 

The anger not leaving Harry's face, Harry reluctantly sat back down in the chair. Harry's behavior reminded Dumbledore much of Snape's. 

"Even though I will, in fact, place additional wards on Hogwarts that I had not made mention of during the meeting," he said all-too-calmly, "that will only be buying us more time. I have known for years, Harry, there a day would come sooner or later when Voldemort would grow so powerful that his power would exceed mine. I am old, Harry, but you are young." Taking a very deep breath, Dumbledore said, "There is something I must tell you that I should have told you long ago, Harry, and of anything I told you over a year ago, this is perhaps the gravest of them all. You had to be prepared, though, to hear it... to be a man, and you are a man now, Harry." 

This sudden change in the course of their conversation threw Harry, and schooling his eyes on to Dumbledore, he asked hollowly, "What is it?" 

"Harry, you are the Heir of Gryffindor." 

For a moment, Harry was at a loss for words. He sat there, gaping at Dumbledore, unable to formulate a response, but then, finally, he sputtered, "What- what does that mean, exactly?" 

"You remember the Prophecy, Harry?" 

Harry nodded. 

"Well, when it stated that Voldemort would mark someone as his equal, that meant that person was also the Heir of Gryffindor. You already know that Voldemort is the Heir of Slytherin. Since you are both the heirs, that makes you also equals. You may have noticed several things in the past that all signified you were destined to become the Heir of Gryffindor. When you first received your wand, red and gold sparks were emitted from its tip when it chose you - the very colors of Gryffindor. When you were fighting the basilisk, you pulled the sword of Godric Gryffindor out of the Sorting Hat. I told you at the time that only a true Gryffindor could have done so, and my suspicions regarding your destiny were confirmed yet again. You may also remember that the name of the village where your parents lived was called Godric's Hollow. All of these things, Harry, point to your fate as the true and rightful Heir of Gryffindor." 

"But I... I can't... surely, sir, that just can't be," Harry stuttered. Everything Dumbledore had told him made sense, too much sense, but the realization of it had not yet struck Harry. This was more than he had ever expected in his life. 

"This whole battle between good and evil has been going on for thousands of years," sighed Dumbledore, his back easing into the cushions of the chair. "Something grander than our comprehension is at work in the world, and you may ask how I know such things. Just by simple observations, Harry. When you have lived as long as I have, you realize that there are many things that occur that are beyond both your comprehension and control. I understand that it angers you greatly to know that I, viewed as the most powerful wizard of the age, can just sit and watch things pass by, but I have learned, Harry, that there is a time and a place for everything. The torch is being passed, my boy, from me to you. My flame is slowly dying, and yours is just beginning to truly come alive as you continue to grow into the man you were meant to become." 

Dumbledore paused, then continued heavily, "Many wizards and witches look up to me, because I am old and have experienced much on this earth, but, Harry, I am not invinsible. I, too, have my limitations, and I am only wise if I realize that there is much I don't yet know or understand about the ways of this world. It is human nature to want to act on emotions and allow them to drive our actions, but you are in control, not your emotions, not Voldemort, not me; you are in control of your thoughts and mind if you so choose to be. Do not place your trust and hope in the magical abilities of your wand; rather, place your trust and hope in the magical abilities that are within you, as that is their true origin, and of any magic, love is the greatest power of all. Your mother's love for you left Voldemort in a state near to death, for love is something Voldemort can never understand or grasp. Use that to your advantage, and then, my boy, you will know that it means to have true wisdom and true power." 

Harry nodded absently, not sure what he could possibly say to quell the emotions he felt building up inside himself. 

"But remember this, Harry," he concluded gravely. "Only you can do this for yourself. Powerful as I may be, I cannot do this for you. That lies in you, Harry; that lies in you." 

Nodding once again, Harry's mind was whirling with thoughts that he couldn't form into rational words or phrases. The entire, enormous weight of every single word Dumbledore had uttered now rested upon his already worn mind, and as he gazed across the short distance between Dumbledore and himself, Harry thought that Dumbledore appeared older and more tired than he had ever seen him before, and this unnerved Harry. A part of him wanted to go over to the old man and literally shake some sense into him, tell him that he was wrong and insane to think that he could just give up, for that is what it sounded like to Harry. 

_I can't do this,_ Harry thought. _It's all too much._

His anxiety reached a breaking point, for it had stewed and boiled for a long time, and standing up, Harry hastily excused himself and darted out of the office. All of this was pure and utter insanity. Time and again, Harry had been told that he was the one who had to defeat Voldemort, and it was a thought that was always with him, whether he consciously acknowledged it or not. But this whole conversation with Dumbledore had not eased his mind one bit. By going to Dumbledore in the first place, Harry had expected to come away in solace. 

Harry angrily kicked the front door open and left the castle in haste. Marching determinedly down the stone steps, Harry paused when he came to the bottom. 

"Who was I fooling?" he whispered to himself. "Only myself. Only myself..." 

Looking out over the darkened landscape, Harry's disbelief began to falter. 

_Everything I see is an illusion. The world isn't at peace. I knew all along that the time would come when something like this would happen, but I just didn't want to believe it._

Sighing, Harry's shoulders slumped, and he returned to the castle. 

As he walked back to Gryffindor Tower, Harry began to wonder what his final year at Hogwarts would be like, knowing that Voldemort could attack at any moment. No matter where they went, no one was safe. Snorting derisively and shaking his head, Harry wondered if his professors would seriously continue to teach classes as if nothing had changed, as if no threat was looming over them. It all seemed like some sick joke, and Harry wanted to kill the joke-maker. 

By the time Harry was standing in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, she was regarding him shrewdly. Harry muttered the password, and as she swung open to allow him assess, her eyebrows were raised inquiringly. Harry bit back the urge to tell her to mind her own bloody business. 

Once he entered the common room, Harry spotted his friends in their usual place near the fire. Hermione was already reading one of her textbooks, while Ron and Neville played a game of Exploding Snap, and Ginny watched them. Ginny was the first to notice Harry, and she called out his name, motioning for him to join them. 

The others immediately turned their eyes on Harry, full of curiosity, as Harry made his way toward them and took a seat. 

"How'd it go, Harry?" Ron asked anxiously. 

"What did Dumbledore say about your scar?" added Hermione. 

Harry frowned. "It didn't exactly go as expected." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" insisted Hermione. "What happened, Harry?" 

Annoyed at the insistent questions from his friends, Harry glowered and uttered, "I'm rather tired. Maybe I ought to just get going to bed-" 

"Oh, no, you don't, Harry," Ginny said firmly, placing her hand on his forearm, offering comfort and keeping him in his seat at the same time. 

"Well," Harry sighed loudly, "he basically told me that he's not as powerful as we all think he is... Some nonsense about him passing the 'torch' onto me and a whole load of rubbish. Voldemort's powers keep growing, and Dumbledore won't be able to keep us protected forever. And I'm-" 

Harry stopped, taking in the looks of shock and horror that were plastered to his friends' faces. 

"What- ?" Neville whispered, his eyes large. 

"Are you saying- ?" Ron tried to say, but couldn't bring himself to finish his sentence. 

"Harry," Hermione said as steadily as she could muster, "are you saying that Hogwarts isn't safe?" 

"I think I am," Harry replied reluctantly. He couldn't bare to look into the eyes of his friends, those who had put so much of their trust, hope, and faith in him to bring them news of reassurance. They, too, had given so much trust to Dumbledore, for it had always been fact that Dumbledore was the only one Voldemort had ever feared. 

Ginny gulped and said in a very small voice, "Just then, Harry, at the very end of what you were saying before... You started to say 'And I'm-' You're what?" 

"I'm the Heir of Gryffindor, or so Dumbledore's told me. That's why I've got to be the one to defeat Voldemort. That's why I'm his equal," Harry sighed. It seemed he had been doing a lot of sighing lately. 

Everyone but Hermione looked surprised. "It makes sense," she observed, only to receive strange looks from the others. "What?" she asked. "Think about it." 

So they thought about it, and as much as they wanted to refuse to acknowledge it at first, they all eventually realized that it simply had to be true. By this time, the hour had grown late, and one by one, students in the common room went up to their dormitories to retire for the evening. 

"Ron," said Hermione, "we had better make sure the first years are settled in." 

With a groan of protest, Ron stood up and joined Hermione, wishing Harry and Ginny good night. Neville did likewise, and soon, Ginny and Harry were the only students left in the common room. 

They sat in the silence of each other's company for a while, and Harry stared, transfixed, into the grate as the fire slowly died. When he finally gazed upon Ginny, he could barely see her face, but the red hue from the last remaining glowing embers illuminated her crimson hair, making her even more beautiful to behold. 

Harry smiled in spite of everything, for Ginny had become his all and everything in many ways in his life. Taking her smaller hands in his own, Harry whispered, "Ginny, if for nothing else, I would fight this battle for you. You deserve to live in a world that's free of all this evil." 

"So do you, Harry," she countered gently, her thumbs stroking the backs of his sturdy hands. 

Releasing a single laugh, Harry said, "What I'd give for that... after a life of so much..." 

Unable to finish his thought, Harry closed his mouth and felt her lips caressing his lips a moment later. 


	38. Chapter ThirtyEight

Chapter Thirty-Eight

September of Harry's seventh year at Hogwarts was eventless. Despite all the worries the Order had regarding Voldemort's gain in power by the day, the powerful dark wizard had not struck, nor had any information been revealed. When people say that no news is good news, that can be a foolish thing to say, for only about half the time, if one is lucky, is this the case. To assume that not knowing what is going on behind the proverbial closed doors is a good thing is to assume far too much. Assumptions are indeed quite dangerous things in and of themselves, for they often mislead and misinform, and as a consequence, the outcome can be even worse than it may have been in the first place. 

In this particular case, Harry knew that no news was bad news. Very bad news. Just as he had predicted, the teachers tried to keep some semblance of normalcy within the walls of the school, by keeping their agendas focused on classes and homework, seemingly mundane tasks to hide the concern that filled their wary minds. It did not help matter any that the infamous N.E.W.T.s would be coming at the end of the school year, and so, much like their fifth year, the workloads were heavy, but to make matters worse for Harry and every other seventh year, all their classes were advanced levels. 

As uneasy as Harry was feeling due to the lack of news, Snape had an even more difficult time going about his day to day routine as if everything were perfectly fine, when, in fact, this couldn't have been further from the truth. The niggling question of why Voldemort had not called his Death Eaters to him within the past month kept eating away at his mind, gnawing on the frayed edges, making them raw and weak. 

The subject came up quite often between Dumbledore and Snape, but all Snape could tell the Headmaster was that he knew nothing new and that he had suspected that Voldemort had his suspicions that someone among his ranks was spying on him and his Death Eaters. Snape and Dumbledore both knew that if he were caught, his life would surely be ended on the spot, no questions asked. 

"Have you thought that perhaps he isn't summoning you to the meetings?" Dumbledore inquired of Snape one evening in front of a roaring fire in the confines of his office. 

Snape regarded Dumbledore shrewdly and nodded. 

"There has not been a day that has passed when I haven't thought such," he admitted. 

To this, Dumbledore had no response. 

Besides the monotony of classes, there was the monotony of the weather. If it wasn't raining, thick, grey clouds still hovered in the sky as a warning that more rain would be on its way soon. Although it was early autumn, the temperatures were on the cool side for the time of year, and Hogwarts was constantly drafty inside. 

Perhaps one of the only things that the students had to look forward to was Quidditch. Practice had started up again during the third week of school, and no matter how much it rained, Harry, as captain of the Gryffindor team, led his players out onto the pitch, and there they would practice faithfully. The first match, which was to be with Ravenclaw, was still three weeks away. The Gryffindor team remained unchanged from the previous year, seeing as no one had graduated, and the best players for each position were already on the team. 

After practice one evening, Ron complained vehemently to Harry as they put away the equipment about the fact that Draco Malfoy was the new Slytherin captain. 

"He doesn't deserve that title or position any more than he ever deserved to play on the team in the first place," Ron practically proclaimed to the world. 

Hermione, who had been watching from the stands, sighed and rolled her eyes at Ron's continued unwillingness to let go of the past. 

"Well, his father couldn't have bought Draco's way as team captain this year, now could he?" she asked. 

"Well, no, of course not," Ron replied hastily, feeling a bit guilty, because despite the fact that the Malfoys were not good people, speaking ill of the dead was not appropriate. 

"He's not that horrible at Quidditch," Hermione pointed out, only to receive looks of contempt from Harry and Ron. "But hey," she quicked recovered herself, "he's no Harry." 

"You're forgiven," Harry smiled, "but just this once." 

Ginny, who had been conversing with the other Chasers, joined Harry by his side and asked, "Forgiven for what?" 

"Never mind," Harry muttered. 

They left the pitch and were about to head back for the castle when Harry cast of glance over in the direction of Hagrid's hut. A light was on, and smoke was coming out of the chimney. 

"D'you want to stop and visit with Hagrid for a bit?" Harry inquired. 

"It has been a while," Ron pointed out. "Sure, why not?" 

"Well, just as long as we don't stay too late," Hermione said hesitantly. "I don't think it would be looked kindly upon if we returned to the castle after curfew." 

"But we are prefects," Ron said, as if they made everything perfectly excusable. 

"Prefects or not," Hermione insisted, "we wouldn't exactly be making a good example out of ourselves by breaking rules, now would we?" 

This silenced Ron, as he knew this was a battle he was not going to win. There was always the next one, though. So, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny all headed for Hagrid's hut, padding quietly across the wet grounds. 

Upon reaching the heavy oaken door, Harry pounded loudly on it, and within a couple of seconds, it flew open, revealing Hagrid in his usual unkempt and wild manner. He beamed down at them. 

"Hullo!" he greeted them jovially. "Yeh come ter visit me, eh?" 

"Yes, Hagrid," Harry said. 

"Well, wha' yeh waitin' fer? Come in! Come in!" 

Hagrid held the door open with one extremely large outstretched arm, while Harry and his friends entered the small, cozy hut. They took seats in the over-large chairs that surrounded an over-large wooden table, its surface covered with scratches and dents from many years of use. Everything about Hagrid's hut was over-sized for the average person, and as Harry surveyed the one room place, he noticed several creatures moving about, most of them small. Hagrid's extreme love for magical creatures, especially dangerous ones, had not dwindled one bit. 

"Jus' put a pot o' tea on," Hagrid announced. "Would yeh care fer a cuppa?" 

"Sure," the Gryffindors replied in unison. 

"So," Hagrid said, busying himself near the stove, "anythin' yeh wish ter talk abou'?" 

Harry glanced around the table at his friends, who all stared back with apparent looks of curiosity. Harry knew the question that was burning in all their minds, for it had been the same one that had been burning within the confines of his own mind these past few weeks. 

"Hagrid," Harry began, "why are all the professors acting like nothing's happening?" 

Hagrid pretended to not understand what Harry was talking about. "Beg pardon?" he asked, turning around, carrying a plate of his infamous rock cakes back to the table with him. 

"Oh, Hagrid!" Hermione exclaimed, unable to stand the looming silence that hung thick in the air. "We know Voldemort's up to something!" 

Hagrid jumped back at the sound of the Dark Lord's horrible name, nearly dropping the rockcakes. 

"See wha' yeh almost made me do?" Hagrid asked, flustered and on edge. Placing the plate on the table, Hagrid took a seat and released a long, heavy sigh, the hairs on his beard near his mouth standing up as the massive amounts of air left his lungs. "Yeh shouldn' be talkin' abou' such things," he tried to lecture. 

Hagrid had let important information slip out of his mouth in the past by mistake, and he knew that was what Harry and his friends were trying to do now. Frowning at their resigned looks, Hagrid stood up and fetched the tea and five cups. He poured them each a cup and resumed his seated position, taking large swigs from his cup as if he were drinking liquor. 

"Don' give me those looks," Hagrid sighed, shaking his head. "When yer to know what's goin' on, Dumbledore'll tell yeh. 'Specially you, Harry." 

"Look," Harry said firmly, "I already know that Voldemort is going to try and attack Hogwarts, but what I can't understand is why everyone's going about their day to day business as if there's nothing to worry about... as if the threat of Voldemort attacking isn't real enough." 

"Stop sayin' his bloody name," Hagrid said with a cringe. 

"Sorry," muttered Harry, "but you know what I mean, right?" 

Hagrid nodded. "Yeah, I do, Harry, but look a' it this way: If all we did was sit 'round worryin' 'bout You-Know-Who attackin', our lives'd be pretty mis'rable, eh?" 

"He's got a point, Harry," Hermione pointed out matter-of-factly. 

"But isn't that denying the truth?" Ron asked, perplexed. "I think that's what Harry's been trying to say." 

"No, not really," Hagrid countered. "It's called livin' our lives. We can' jus' stop livin' 'cause of a threat, no matter how big it is." 

There was much wisdom is Hagrid's words. Although Hagrid wasn't known for wisdom, his simple outlook on life sometimes gave him a clearer view of the way of things than the complicated views of someone whose mind seemingly possessed more wisdom. In his own simple way, Hagrid was wise, and as Harry listened to what he said, he knew Hagrid was right. There was no point arguing with him. 

They finished up their tea one by one, and even though Hagrid offered them his "delicious" rockcakes three times, the kind invitation to his baked goods was declined by polite excuses of "I'm full" or "I ate too much at dinner" or "I'm watching what I eat." 

Eventually, since the hour had grown late, Harry and his friends wished Hagrid a good night, and they headed back to the castle. As Harry trudged across the grounds, the wind was picking up in velocity, whooping around them violently. The branches on the trees were moving back and forth in a crazed dance as their leaves rustled frenzically in the symphony. There was a horrific beauty in the whole display around them. 

"Sure is windy!" Ron called over the rushing wind. 

"I know!" Hermione yelled back, trying to keep her bushy hair from blowing every which way, at which she was failing miserably. 

Ginny glanced up at the sky and could see not a single star. 

"I think there's a storm coming in!" she called out, motioning toward the sky. 

Sure enough, as soon as those words left Ginny's mouth, Harry felt a raindrop hit him squarely in the nose. 

"We'd best hurry up, then!" Ron exclaimed. 

They picked up their pace, and it seemed that the faster they ran, the faster the rain began to fall down, and by the time they reached the front doors of the castle, the rain was pouring down upon them in buckets. Once they were inside the dry, warm castle, they wanted nothing more than to return immediately to Gryffindor Tower and take nice, hot showers and be under the covers of their inviting beds. 

"We're soaked!" Ron complained. 

As the four Gryffindors walked toward the tower, they didn't see the lone figure in the shadows that had been watching them. Once they were out of sight, Draco Malfoy stepped away from the wall and muttered, "Rain tends to do that, Weasley." 

With a roll of his pale eyes, Draco began to slump through the hallway again. He was finding it more and more difficult to be amidst the Slytherins, especially those whose parents were supporters of the Dark Lord. 

_If only they knew what I was up to,_ he thought, _I'd be a goner for sure._

The prospect of being a spy was still unnerving for Draco. He wanted to spit at Harry Potter for worrying about when Voldemort was going to attack, for more on Draco's mind was worrying about trying to keep up his facade when the Dark Lord called again. Like Snape, Draco wondered every day when that day would come, and he also wondered if he would be discovered. Unlike Snape, Draco didn't have years of experience in Occlumency and the finer aspects of spying. He had always prided himself as being a cut above the rest, but more often then not, as of late, Draco found that he was second-guessing himself. 

And so, Draco would leave the Slytherin dormitories and wander the halls late at night and whenever he wasn't in class. As a prefect, he was justified in being out past curfew. As he walked the halls this night, he wondered if he had made the right decision. Would he have been better off in Azkaban? Draco didn't know if he could have handled that any more than the current state in wich he was forced to live. Either way, he reckoned, he was still a prisoner. 

_I won't be free until this is all over... if it's ever over._

Forced to stay in the castle, Draco wanted nothing more than to leave it every waking second. Had it been a clear night, he would have walked the grounds, and now he found himself grumbling about the rain. Nothing, it seemed, could go right for him. 

_My father always held our family name is such high esteem. He had the power, money, and authority to get anything and everything he wanted, and I was to follow in his footsteps. The bloody coward... some father he was. He had to go and get himself killed, and now look where it's gotten him... dead... and me... in a world of trouble and confusion. I'd rather be anywhere then here on this accursed earth..._

Draco pounded his fist into the wall in his frustration and rage and immediately regretted it. Slamming one's fist into a stone wall is not the brightest of ideas, but obviously he hadn't been thinking when he pulled his balled hand back and brought it directly into one of the aged stones of the hallway's wall. 

"Damn it!" he cursed, hissing in pain, and bringing his throbbing hand to his chest, cradling it like a wounded child. 

It was then that he realized how tired he was feeling, and reluctantly, Draco headed for the Slytherin dormitories. Most of the students were already in bed by the time he returned, and once he was in his room, he sat on his bed in the darkness, peering around the room. Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott's beds were still there, but they were empty. Now, Draco was the only seventh year boy left in Slytherin house, and every time he entered the room he used to share with the other boys, it only served to further remind him how truly alone he was in his journey. A journey, it seemed, that he was beginning to doubt if he should have ever begun. 

In another part of the castle, Harry was sitting awake in his own bed, finding sleep unable to come over him. Ron was already asleep, but he could probably sleep through the final war against Voldemort. The rain outside pounded against the window pane, its noise drowning out the light snores coming from his classmates. Shadows from the raindrops on the window covered Harry's face, and as they trickled down the surface, only to be joined by more, it gave the illusion that Harry was crying as the shadows crept down his face. 

But he no longer cried any tears. 


	39. Chapter ThirtyNine

Chapter Thirty-Nine

_The year was 1980, and it was one of those days of which memories are made. _

The bell rang, signaling James Potter that someone was at the door, and as his wife Lily fussed over their month-old son, little Harry Potter, he practically bounced to the door and swung it open with a grand gesture, the excitement of the occasion evident all over his face. 

"Prongs!" came the equally excited voice of the young man at the door, who grinned widely and pulled James into a brotherly embrace. 

"Padfoot!" James returned the words and then the embrace. 

"Am I allowed in, or is Lily still mad at me?" Sirius asked in a mock-sheepish voice. 

"Nah, she's over it," James said, with a nonchalant wave of the hand. "You'd never know her hair was green before." 

Sirius laughed and stepped into the house. The Potter home was neither extravagant nor humble, but fell nicely into the middle. Despite the large family forture, the Potters had never flaunted their wealth, much unlike most pureblood wizarding families. Shortly before Harry's birth, an unfortunate and tragic attack had taken place on the Potter household, ending the lives of both of James's beloved parents. There was now a trace of sadness in James's brown eyes as he regarded Sirius, of which Sirius returned, for the Potters had been his surrogate parents and had meant as much to him as they had to their son of blood. 

Neither of them spoke of the loss, though, for that was in the past, and no amount of wishing could change what had happened. The way of the Marauders had been one of laughter, and besides, neither of the late Potters would have wanted to see their son saddened on a day like today. 

Sirius seated himself in one of the simple yet comfortable chairs in the living room. "When will they be here?" he asked. "They'd best not be late, especially Moony... always running behind, he is." 

"Impatient, are we, Sirius?" James inquired, taking the seat opposite him. 

No sooner had James sat down when the bell rang again, and James smiled. "That would be them now, I believe." 

Going to the door, James opened it, although not quite as enthusiastically this time. His best friend in the world had already arrived, after all, but the arrival of his two other good friends was also worth smiling over. 

"Hullo, Moony... Wormtail," he greeted them. 

"Hey, Prongs," Lupin said with a polite smile. 

Pettigrew, however, just nodded slightly. James regarded the shorter man for a moment, wondering if there was something troubling him. Over the years, Peter had always been the shy, quiet one of the group, and so, it was difficult to tell what was going through his mind at times. Since their days at Hogwarts, Peter seemed to be slowly distancing himself from his friends, and when they would ask him about it, he would simply shrug and say that it certainly wasn't on purpose. 

If only James had known the truth... 

The four young men of twenty-one years of age all gathered around the living room, awaiting Lily's arrival with Harry. When she finally entered, she was holding little Harry. The infant was wrapped in a green blanket and was sleeping soundly. It was only when a loud pop came from within the room that Harry woke up and began to wail, quite angry at the disruption. 

Albus Dumbledore had arrived, and placing his aged hands on Harry's head, he murmured, "Hello there, little one. You needn't cry, for today is a happy day." 

Lily and James's hearts rose within their chests, and each took a step closer to Dumbledore. Sirius couldn't stop himself from beaming. Dumbledore asked for each of them to place their right hand on Harry's hand, and as they proceeded to do so, Harry stopped crying, probably more confused by what was occurring more than anything. 

Dumbledore recited something in Latin, the usual words that were apparently spoken during a baptism in the wizarding world. Then, he looked at Lily and James directly in the eyes and asked, "Will you raise this child in all that is good and pure, teaching him the ways of light, and so preparing him for the world when one day he is grown?" 

"We will," they said in unison. 

With a smile and a nod, Dumbledore then focused his blue gaze on Sirius and asked, "And, Sirius, will you be like a second father to this child, prepared to take the place of his real father should anything befall him, and be an example of the way of light?" 

"I will," Sirius said. 

Lily began to cry tears of joy, and applause filled the room. Then, the surroundings began to blur and fade into darkness. 

"I will, I will, I will," Sirius murmured. 

And then he opened his eyes. 

Reliving the memory of the day he had become Harry's godfather over seventeen years prior made him feel as if the day had been yesterday. Who, on that blessed day so long ago, could have known the events that would come to pass? How Peter's betrayal would cost James and Lily their lives, unfairly and unjustly condemn Sirius to twelve years in Azkaban, and leave poor Lupin alone and oftentimes unemployed? Above all, who would have known that Harry would have grown into the man that he was today, the only one who could defeat Voldemort once and for all? 

Sirius gazed out into the darkness that was Lupin's office, his shaggy bangs hanging in his eyes. He supposed he could shout until someone heard him, but the walls in Hogwarts were rather sound-proof. He wasn't even sure what the time was, but it was definitely the middle of the night. Over the past several months, Sirius had grown lonely being stuck in the portrait, despite being able to communicate with Lupin, Harry, and others. Every time he saw someone, it was on their terms, not his. 

Then, he remembered something, and he suppressed the urge to smack himself senseless for not thinking such a thing earlier. Many of the portraits in Hogwarts were enchanted to be able to move freely throughout each others' frames. Come first thing in the morning when Lupin walked into the office, Sirius would inquire about having such an enchantment placed upon his portrait, perhaps by Dumbledore himself. 

But, for now, there were still several hours of waiting before he would have such an opportunity. October was fast approaching, and Sirius wondered why Harry had not visited him much since his return to the school. He knew the boy - no, young man - had much on his wary mind. Surely Harry had not forgotten about him? 

Some embittered sadness penetrated Sirius's tired mind, for remembering the day he had become Harry's godfather brought back many feelings, most of which involved regret over having not been able to take James's place, which he had sworn to do. 

He spent the remainder of the night dozing off and waking up, and when light finally entered the room from the opening door, a relieved smile came across Sirius's face. In strolled Lupin, humming softly to himself, and he went for his desk, where he placed his briefcase and took a seat, facing Sirius. 

"Oh, and good morning to you, old boy," Lupin said, regarding Sirius. "You all right?" 

Sirius sighed, "Been better. Last night was worse than most." 

"Oh?" 

Lupin raised his eyebrows inquiringly, and Sirius began to explain his daydreaming and the recounting of the memory he felt like he had relived. A thoughtful expression covered Lupin's face, a half-smile of remembrance evident with the sadness in his eyes. 

"Yes, I remember that day like it was yesterday," Lupin murmured. "Has it really been so long?" 

Lupin caught a glimpse of his reflection in the mirror on the wall in his office, and chuckling slightly, remarked, "Yeah, I guess it has." 

Sirius knew that had he not been in this portrait, his appearance, too, would have been aged with years of hardship, worn ragged around the edges, frayed and torn in the middle. 

"How's Harry doing in class?" Sirius asked off-handedly. 

"He's been rather quiet," Lupin said, going through some of the papers on his desk. "I think there's more on his mind than he's been willing to admit or tell anyone." 

"Well, maybe he ought to pay his old godfather a visit and release some of that pent-up frustration... anger... bitterness... worry?" Sirius trailed off, unsure of what emotion - or perhaps emotions - Harry was hiding from most of the rest of the world. 

"Padfoot, old mate, he'll come to us when he's ready. Harry really has grown up, you realize." 

"Yes, more than I have realized," Sirius observed in a mixed tone of voice. 

To Sirius, Harry had grown up too quickly. While he could not have been prouder of him, he was also feeling the full effect of the loss he had suffered. Being in Azkaban had more than stripped away his own soul; it had prevented him from seeing Harry grow up, and even when he was supposedly free from prison, the chances he had to be with Harry had been few, more like rare glimpses into his life, mere fragments that didn't seem to make the puzzle of his connection with Harry whole. 

"Well," Lupin sighed, "it's no use worrying about right now. I'm sorry to leave you again, but I've a class of third years to teach in about five minutes." 

"Sure thing," Sirius said. "See you later, Moony." 

Lupin wished Sirius a good day and left the office, keeping just a couple of candles lit to keep Sirius in the light. As soon as Lupin left, though, Sirius realized that he hadn't asked Lupin about getting Dumbledore to enchant his portrait so he could move freely like the rest of the portraits in the castle. 

"Stupid, stupid, stupid," Sirius muttered, annoyed with himself. He continued to grumble for the better part of a half an hour before quieting himself. 

Meanwhile, Harry was on his way to his first class of the day: History of Magic. Ron and Hermione flanked him on either side, and while Hermione chattered away about what Binns would be lecturing on during the next class period, for she had already read that chapter, of course, Ron leaned toward Harry and whispered, "D'you honestly think you'll be able to keep your eyes open during class?" 

Harry snorted. "I think you ought to be asking yourself that question as well, mate. You're just as likely to doze off as I am." 

"Yeah, well, I haven't been the one staying up all night," Ron remarked. 

Hermione overheard that last comment and looked at Harry with concern all over her face as they entered the classroom and took their usual seats. 

"You're still not sleeping properly, Harry?" she questioned. 

Harry sighed. "Guys, please, don't worry about it. You're just likely to aggravate me more than anything." 

Hermione wasn't so easily convinced. "We've been through this before, Harry," she practically lectured. "Many times, in fact. Maybe you ought to see Madam Pomfrey if you're still having trouble sleeping. She could give you something to help you sleep." 

"I'm not taking some sort of sleeping draught," Harry said with a grimace. "I'll be fine." 

Hermione was about to argue the point yet again when Professor Binns floated into the room. The ghost of a professor perched himself - or more like floated just above - the podium at the front of the classroom. His monotonous voice began droning on and on about some war or another from the sixteenth century, and Harry's eyelids grew heavy in a matter of five minutes. 

_Suddenly, he found himself surrounded by darkness. Momentarily panicking, Harry desperately looked around for something familiar, and then he heard it - Voldemort's cackling laughter, mocking him. _

Red slits for eyes glowed, breaking through the darkness like daggers, staring Harry down, daring him to fight back. 

"You thought you were safe, Potter," hissed the malevolent voice. "So foolish to think that old fool would protect you forever. So foolish indeed. Now where has he gotten himself?" 

Harry didn't say anything, but just glared back with complete hatred at those horrifying eyes. 

"See for yourself, you silly boy," mocked Voldemort. 

Then, a flash of bright light illuminated the area to Harry's right. He didn't want to look, for he knew Voldemort was toying with him, trying to bait him into defeat, but the urge to look grew too great. Finally, sweat pouring down his neck and brow, Harry turned his head stiffly to the right. The sight before his eyes was terrifying beyond words. Blood was splattered all over white, the red matching Voldemort's eyes. The body was twisted and gored beyond recognition. Harry felt the urge to vomit and promptly pass out, but then he felt a hard knock in the head, and his eyes opened. 

He was in the History of Magic classroom. A few of the students nearby were giggling, and Harry felt a dull, throbbing pain on the side of his head. He looked over at Ron and Hermione beside him. 

"What happened?" he asked. 

"You fell asleep, mate," Ron supplied. "And then you fell over in your seat and hit your head on the desk. Rather embarrassing, if you ask me." 

"Are you all right, Harry?" Hermione asked. 

"Yeah, I'm fine... just tired." 

Although she didn't appear to believe him, Hermione nodded and returned to taking notes. Binns was so wrapped up in lecturing that he had not even noticed the whole incident. 

Harry tried to concentrate on taking notes, but it was to no avail. His head was still sore, but oddly enough, his scar wasn't the source of the pain. Maybe he had simply knocked his head on the surface of the desk, and perhaps the dream had been only that - a dream and nothing more. 

When class let out, Harry kept quiet, not wanting to worry his friends further or unnecessarily. He wondered if he should go to Dumbledore, but after his last meeting with the Headmaster, Harry wasn't so sure if Dumbledore would bring any sort of comfort or reassurance. In fact, he had done the opposite last time. 

Harry went to his next class and tried to focus his attention on Professor McGonagall as she lectured, thinking that maybe it really was for the best to go on acting as if nothing were really happening in the world outside the castle walls. 

So, Harry went to lunch and to his afternoon classes, then to dinner, and finally retired to the common room to work on his homework that evening. Ron and Hermione knew that something was off about Harry, and while Hermione kept insisting she needed to ask, Ron told her to leave him be for the time being. Harry had enough on his mind, he argued, without having to be annoyed with his friends on top of everything else. 

Ginny sat by Harry's side, occasionally glancing at him in concern, but he was oblivious to her pretty, worried face. While in the middle on his Transfigurations assignment, Harry found himself feeling distracted and staring into the flames in the fireplace, losing himself to those around him and thinking... just thinking... for all Harry could think about was that crumpled, bloodied body he had seen. 


	40. Chapter Forty

Chapter Forty

Autumn. Clear, star-spotted skies blanketed the cooling earth as the brisk wind blew, uttering its song older than time itself, sending a chill down the spines of those passing through the lone streets and tickling the senses to life. It was harvest time when the October moon rested upon the velvet night, quietly and calmly reflecting its dim glown off the serene waters of the lake. Ripples slowed and softened, for it would seem that Mother Earth was croning, preparing herself for the winter's rest that may come upon the world. Fires crackling within stone cottages lining the cobbled streets, releasing their smoky essence into the atmosphere above the roof tops, giving the smell of pine logs turning to ash to join their earth - the very feeling penetrated into the middle of the soul of humanity, and how that soul longed for sweet release, yet blissful respose. 

Golden embers, like the goldening leaves, portrayed the warmth of the blessed season of the turning of time, and though no person could quite grasp the meaning of its beauty, no doubt mankind knew from a force within all the living, a force as old as the oldest of stone hidden among the dust and dirt, that to stand in awe of nature's wonders is a deliverance from the tangled, tortured world which was so foolishly created by humanity and into a world where everyone is simply asked to embrace it. 

If nothing else is true in the world, there is truth in such beauty, such that what is given to people is precious, for as each solitary leaf shed its lifeful green and turned into its dying orange, gold, or red, so humanity must prepare to shed its mortal coil so firmly held and evolve into something more beautiful...the soul's essence of love. Such was the season of autumn brilliance. 

But such thoughts were intangible and beyond what most people pondered on a day to day basis, for they had work to do, people to see, tasks to perform, and lives to live. Where they truly living, though? As Harry sat on the chilled ground on a particularly frosty morning in mid-October, regarding the still lake, he wondered if in stopping to reflect on the way of things as they were and as they should be, that weeks had passed already, slipping through his fingers like sand, and he had become preoccupied with living his life day by day. 

Worrying was a bothersome and needless thing, yet as he looked out at the lake and saw how placid and marvelous the scene was, the peace was an illusion. Somewhere, near or far, he knew Voldemort was plotting his next murderous move, and Harry could not feel a thing of the Dark Lord's emotions. All he had was a sinking feeling within his own heart that the tide would very soon be changing, and a great rift would break forth through the seemingly firm foundation everyone had placed their hopes upon. Harry had seen for himself the foundation beginning to crack when he had spoken with Dumbledore weeks ago. 

The day he had fallen asleep during Binns's class and had that very disturbing dream flashed back into Harry's mind for the thousandth time. Was it just a dream, or was it something more? His scar had always bothered him in times past whenever Voldemort had been inside his head, so something didn't add up now. Maybe he had just been worried about Voldemort and the horrible crimes he was possible of commiting. Harry didn't know. Not knowing was the way of things these past few weeks. 

Finally, Harry drew one last sigh and stood up, returning to the castle. His friends would be wondering where he had gone. 

Later that day, Harry was visiting Sirius in Lupin's office. While Lupin graded essays, Sirius told Harry about how he wanted to be able to move freely throughout the portraits in the castle. This was the first good news Harry had heard all day. 

Smiling, Harry said, "That would be great! Then you won't have to be confined to this one lonely picture all the time. Maybe you could come visit Gryffindor Tower?" 

"That's the general idea," Sirius replied. "Dumbledore said he would be stopping by some time this evening to take care of things." 

"Great," Harry conceded, glancing over in Lupin's direction, looking for his reaction. 

Sirius had already informed Lupin regarding his wishes to move freely, and it had been Lupin who had asked Dumbledore if he could do the favor for Sirius. The benevolent Headmaster of course complied immediately. Since this was the case, Harry wondered, then, why there was a look of consternation on Lupin's face. Surely grading parchments wasn't that horrible? 

Lupin was squinting at the paper in front of him, as if straining to see the writing. 

"You all right, Remus?" Harry ventured. 

Lupin placed the quill down for a moment and looked up at Harry. Smiling weakly, he replied, "Yes, I'm all right, Harry... just worn out, I guess. I'm having a hard time focusing." 

"You've been acting like this for weeks, Moony," Sirius remarked. "And it's only getting worse. I'd say it's more a matter of you having a hard time focusing with your eyes than with your mind." 

Sighing, Lupin rubbed at his eyes. "I know. Even though I haven't had a transformation in several months, I'm afraid years and years of them have really taken a toll on me. My eyes are just one of the things affected." 

"Maybe you need glasses... like me," Harry suggested. "It's not so bad, really. Lots of people wear them." 

"It's not getting glasses that bothers me, Harry, so much as the fact that my body feels like a seventy-year-old man's." 

Sirius was about to protest when Dumbledore strolled into the room. Seeing the Headmaster made Lupin realize that he hardly had reason to complain about feeling old. What was a mere thirty-eight years to over a hundred and fifty? 

"Good evening, gentlemen," Dumbledore politely greeted them, with a slight incline of the head. Despite however many times Dumbledore addressed those he was meeting, there was a constant, comforting air to his way of doing things. His very presence instilled a regal, powerful feeling. 

The younger men said their good evenings, and Dumbledore proceeded to stand in front of the portrait of Sirius. "So, am I to understand that you would like free domain of the castle, Sirius?" 

"Yes, sir, that's correct." 

"Wonderful. I must ask you to practice caution when necessary and vigilance when it is needed. The paintings in this castle have an understanding amongst themselves, and whenever a new one is added to them, there is, of course, a period of adjustment. Do not be surprised if you are not welcomed by all of them at first, but give it some time, and you will see that there are many who will become something like friends to you. Also, as you probably know, the portraits pose as a sort of lookout for me. They are the eyes and ears of Hogwarts, so to speak, so if you ever witness something that you feel needs attention, you know to come get me immediately," Dumbledore explained at length. 

"Of course," Sirius said, noting the pressing tone in which the Headmaster spoke. 

"Very well, then," Dumbledore said with a nod. Bringing his wand's tip to the portrait of Sirius, Dumbledore closed his eyes, concentrated, and drew his wand along the edges of the painting. "_Imago actus,_" he murmured. After the glow of the magic dimmed, Dumbledore opened his eyes again. 

"It is finished," he confirmed. "Now, focus and try moving to the painting of the pasture on the wall across from you." 

Sirius pictured himself moving into the other painting, willing himself to physically perform the mental image. Harry, Lupin, and Dumbledore watched as Sirius miraculously stepped out of his portrait, disappeared for a moment, and then reappeared in the painting of the green pasture. An excited smile spreading across his face, Sirius ran through the grass, laughing like a child. 

"This is fantastic!" he exclaimed. "I feel more alive now than I have in years, even when I was in your world. For the first time in years, I feel like a free man." 

Smiles spread across all faces in the room. After a little while, Dumbledore returned to his office, leaving Harry and Lupin to watch their friend. Harry's heart felt for Sirius, for he wanted this for Sirius just as much as Sirius wanted it for himself. A tinge of sadness tugged at Lupin's heart, though, for he wondered why it had to take losing his friend through the veil for him to finally be free. What kind of justice was that, after all? 

In spite of feeling like his years were passing by too quickly and the whole unfairness of the plight of events that had taken place over the years to the Marauders, Lupin knew that he should count his blessings. 

After about an hour, Harry wished his friends good night and headed back to Gryffindor Tower. Sirius said he would join him there in a little while, but first, he had something else on his mind that he wanted to do. 

"And just what might that be, hmmm?" Lupin inquired, raising a suspicious eyebrow at Sirius. 

"Aw, Moony, don't you go worryin' your pretty, little head off," Sirius remarked in mock concern. 

"Well, whatever it is you're up to, Padfoot, it'll be your 'pretty, little head' if you get in trouble," Lupin said, clearly amused. "Just make sure to fill me in on the details later." 

"Aye, aye!" Sirius exclaimed, saluting Lupin, who shooed him away. 

Sirius, still trying to suppress his laughter, left his portrait and moved from painting to painting throughout the castle. Several of the portraits' people were shocked or annoyed, some even angered, that this suddenly overly excited young man was literally jumping in and out of their paintings. As they made their protests, Sirius apologized half-heartedly, "Sorry... Oh, sorry... Sorry about that." He kept going, though, clearly on a mission that he wanted very much to see through to the end. 

Finally, he arrived. Very quietly and sneakily, Sirius appeared in a painting (a very small one) of a castle tower in the midst of a rainstorm. 

_Truly typical of him. Dark, gloomy, and downright depressing. Also very cold._

As the rain in the painting pelted on him, Sirius visibly shivered. He wondered how a painting could invoke such real impressions, but all that was ignored when his eyes came to focus on his victim. 

The room was quite dark, with the exception of a couple of candles burning on the table near where the room's inhabitant was seated. He had his face buried in a book, his nose practically touching the pages. 

_His nose is so big, it gives a whole new meaning to sticking your nose in a book._

Sirius sniggered and said very smoothly, "Enjoying yourself?" 

The figure in the chair jumped, lashing out his wand immediately. He began scanning the room. 

"Paranoid, are we?" Sirius asked. 

Then, those black eyes locked on Sirius. 

"You!" came the man's enraged voice. Snape lunged toward the painting, pointing his wand directly at Sirius. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing, Black!" 

"Just having a bit of fun at your expense, Snape," Sirius said coyly. 

"How did you get down here?" Snape demanded harshly. 

"Ah, well... that. You have Dumbledore to thank for that," Sirius said with a smirk. "I think I'll be on my way now. Good night, Sniv-" 

"Black!" Snape yelled. "You have two seconds to get the hell out of my room before I hex you into oblivion!" 

Sirius wasn't sure how serious Snape was, so with a sudden movement - pop- he disappeared out of the painting. 

The next day, Harry was sitting on the bank of the lake again, silently peering out over the calm waters. He had eaten an early breakfast so he could watch the sun as it rose in the east, and as the sun elevated higher and higher, its warmth covered Harry. He closed his eyes and sighed contentedly. 

While his eyes were still shut, he suddenly felt a hand on his shoulder, which only startled him slightly. The touch was soft and delicate, which went along perfectly with the voice that accompanied it. "Hello, Harry." 

Harry could feel her presence next at him, her warmth radiating all around him, a very welcoming presence indeed. A smile forming across his lips, his eyes opened, and he turned his head to face her. "Hello, Ginny." 

"Mind if I sit down?" 

Quite the silly question. "Of course not." 

Harry patted the ground next to him, and Ginny sat down. "We missed you at breakfast." 

Her simple observation spoke volumes. The meaning behind what remained unspoken was far greater than whatever was said. With a short nod, Harry said, "Yes." 

Ginny edged closer to Harry, and he found himself wrapping his arms around her, whether protectively or lovingly or both, he couldn't be entirely sure. In the midst of the warmth, a chill ran down Harry's spine, and he shuddered. Ginny, noticing this, looked up at him. 

"Harry, are you all right?" In the depths of her cinnamon eyes, Harry saw her concern etched in every line of her irises. 

"Yeah, I'm okay," Harry replied quietly. 

Ginny seemed to hesitate before she spoke again. "Sometimes... I don't know if I'm going to make any sense... but sometimes, Harry, you seem... I don't know... distant. Is there something you would like to tell me?" 

Harry swallowed. Was there something he wanted to tell her? Oh, there were many thoughts, memories, and emotions that played relentlessly through his mind that he could tell her. All his concerns regarding Voldemort, the secrecy of his plans, the frailty of Dumbledore... but why burden Ginny with his problems? In the middle of everything, Harry wanted more than anything to try to live as normal a life as was possible, despite whatever was going on in the world around him. Over the past few weeks, he had come to understand Hagrid's words as to why the professors at Hogwarts were going on teaching and living their lives as if nothing had changed. Harry would not allow the fear of Voldemort drive his life. 

"What can I tell you?" Harry finally asked, trying to sound like he was contemplating a deep and profond statement. "How about this?" 

He paused, and she drew in a deep, anticipating breath. 

"I love you." 

Then, leaning down toward her face, Harry's lips found hers. To say the kiss was passionate would be an understatement. Savoring every moment of this high, Harry closed his eyes to the world yet again, embracing something that transcended the physical. Sparks of elation flowed through both of them, and if this was what heaven was like, then Harry never wanted to leave. If he could have stayed in this moment for an eternity, he would have. 


	41. Chapter FortyOne

Chapter Forty-One

The first Quidditch match was held in mid-October, and it was Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw. With Cho Chang graduated, the Ravenclaw team had a new Seeker. In comparison to the Gryffindor team, the Ravenclaw team was inexperienced. Half of their team were brand new players, and so, Harry felt confident when he led the Gryffindor team onto the pitch. 

Surprisingly, the game lasted longer than Harry had expected. Ron's ability as Keeper was comparable to that of the Ravenclaw Keeper, so scoring was happening on both sides. Flying high above the rest of the players, Harry scanned the skies for the Golden Snitch. Quidditch always gave him a feeling of freedom, as did flying in general, and it was a great distraction from what was going on in the real world. 

Finally, after what could have been several minutes or several hours, Harry spotted the Snitch zipping around on the end near the goals for Ravenclaw. He took off in that direction, and it was far too late by the time the Ravenclaw Seeker saw Harry zooming across the pitch. In a matter of seconds, Harry held the Golden Snitch in his hand, his strong fist clenched firmly around it. The Gryffindor part of the stands errupted in applause. The game was over. 

The general consensus was that there was a lot more teamwork this year so far than had been displayed during the previous playing season. Harry remembered how downhearted his team members seemed after the first match during his sixth year, how they attributed their win merely to his having caught the Snitch. In the locker rooms, they high-fived and exchanged their congratulations. Ginny surprised Harry with a long kiss in front of the rest of the team. 

Laughing and conversing as they left the room to head back to the castle, Harry was the last one to leave. Ginny was caught up in conversation with Natalie McDonald, one of the other Chasers, and Harry had told her that he would see her later in the common room. Harry didn't see Draco Malfoy as he stepped out of the shadows from the stands. 

"Potter," said an even voice. 

Harry stopped and turned to see how his pursuer was. When he saw that it was none other than Draco, Harry frowned in vexation. 

"Malfoy?" he asked. 

Draco took a few steps toward Harry. Harry wasn't sure whether he should continue standing there or begin walking away. He did not know what Draco's intentions were. 

"I bet you thought you were really something," Draco sneered. "Of course, what else is new? Every year the famous Harry Potter struts about on his broom, showing off to the world what a great Quidditch player he is. It's not enough he is the wizarding world's savior. Oh, no..." 

"What?" Harry stuttered. "Malfoy, what are you playing at?" Harry refrained from rolling his eyes. "You do this again and again... this taunting. What do you hope to gain from it?" 

"Maybe just that you would step out of the spotlight just long enough for someone else to be in it," Draco spat. 

"What? Are you jealous?" Harry asked incredulously. "Is this really about Quidditch, Malfoy? You know you've never beaten me, and you probably won't, but I don't think that's the issue here." 

"Maybe it is and maybe it isn't, Potter. The fact of the matter remains that you are practically worshipped and glorified. Everyone thinks you are the golden boy. You... What did you do to deserve all that? You weren't the one born into a noble, wealthy family. My family had influence, prestige, power, money... and now look at me, Potter. A lowly spy." 

"Do you think I ever wanted any of that!" Harry yelled, finally losing his temper. 

"Do you think I did!" Draco shot back. 

Their breathing was heavy. It was like they were carefully trying to control themselves, keeping themselves from charging full-force, headlong at the other. Teeth bared, fists clenched, the air tense, they both stood like that for several long moments, perhaps daring the other to back down. Then, oddly enough, Harry and Draco each sighed, visibly relaxed, and turned and left. Without ever saying so, it would seem they had come to a sort of understanding. 

By the time late October rolled around, the weather had turned unusually cold. It was true that cooler temperatures were to be expected, but on the day before the Halloween Feast, a blanket of snow coated the ground. Normally the students would have been excited to see the first snow, but more than half the castle had taken ill with influenza. Despite the fact that wizards had magical means of healing themselves and potions they could take to help ease the pain and suffering, there was nothing that could completely eradicate even the simple flu. Like with Muggles, the awful disease simply had to take its course. 

Even Dumbledore was feeling none too well, and as he nursed a cup of weak tea, he smiled wearily over at Professor McGonagall, who was seated across from him in his office. She was on the verge of recovery, having been one of the first to become sick, and was trying her best to keep the old man company. 

"Who would have thought something like this would happen," she said, shaking her head, "and just before the feast, no less?" 

"I know, Minerva," Dumbledore agreed, his voice rather quiet and weak. "Many won't have appetites to even be able to enjoy the wonderful meal that house elves will have worked so hard to prepare." He paused, took a sip of tea, then ventured, "How have classes been?" 

"Well, as you know, I had to cancel earlier in the week, but even now, there are so many missing students, it almost seems pointless. Perhaps you should have just cancelled all classes for the week. Merlin knows we'll only have to go over everything again." 

"That would have been a wise idea," Dumbledore said with a solemn nod, "especially had I known earlier that things would get this bad. I cannot remember the last time Hogwarts saw such an epidemic as this." 

McGonagall nodded with understanding, and both of them were thinking the same thing: What would happen if Voldemort chose a time like this to attack? 

Meanwhile, back in the Gryffindor common room, Harry was the only one of his friends who was feeling all right. Ron had not even removed himself from his bed yet that day, and despite how sick she really was, Hermione was sitting up in the common room, trying to read. She leaned over the book that she had opened on the table, and every ten minutes or so, she would cast a warming charm on herself and pull a blanket up around her shoulders again. Ginny had tried to fight the inevitable, but perhaps due to how she was raised by her mother, she, like Ron, returned to bed and stayed there. 

"You know, Hermione," Harry pointed out matter-of-factly, "you're probably doing yourself more harm than good." 

"Rubbish," Hermione muttered. "Reading doesn't take that much out of me, and besides, when we do all return to our normal schedules, we'll still be expected to keep up in class." 

"Yeah, but a lot of the teachers are sick, too," Harry remarked. "I honestly don't think-" 

Hermione sneezed, causing the blanket that she had drapped haphazardly over her shoulders to slip down. Very aggravated, Hermione groaned, pulled the blanket back around her, and complained, "It's not fair. You're not sick. I'm the one who's trying to do all the studying, and I have to be sick. You, on the other hand, Harry, are quite well, and you're doing nothing but wasting your time." Hermione's face turned red, and Harry could tell she was working herself up over nothing. 

He sighed. "Hermione, really. Calm down, okay? Why d'you always feel the need to run yourself into the ground like this? You've been wearing yourself thin and bare ever since the school year started. Especially now that you're sick, you really ought to get some rest." 

Harry wasn't sure what he had said to trigger the tears that sprung up in Hermione's eyes, but right in front of him, she started sobbing. "Oh, it's no use," she choked in between sobs. "It's our last year, Harry, and you know what that means... N.E.W.T.s. It's the real world after this. I still don't know what I want to do. Ron's been pressuring me, asking me... I don't know what he expects. And then... then he gets angry at me for spending more time with my books than with him, yet he keeps asking me what I want to do with my life. Maybe if I had the time to properly prepare, I would know." 

_Whoa. That's a lot more than I expected to hear._ Shocked by the level of emotion coming from Hermione, Harry wasn't sure what to say. Taking a tentative step toward her, Harry knelt on the floor in front of her and regarded her closely. Finally, he surprised both himself and her by bringing his arms around her and hugging her. 

"It's all right, Hermione," he said gently. "If there's anyone who doesn't have to prove themselves, it's you. You're overworked and overwhelmed right now, plus you're not feeling well. When you feel better and your concentration is back, I'm sure you'll be telling Ron and me to get ourselves in gear and study." 

Hermione looked at Harry and smiled a little, hiccoughing. She wiped at her eyes, sniffled, and said, "I'm sorry, Harry. You're right. I'm just not feeling too well... Maybe I ought to head up to bed." 

Harry nodded. "I think that's the most sensical thing I've heard you say all day." He paused, still surprised by her outburst. "Hermione, what d'you mean about Ron pressuring you? It really doesn't sound like him." 

Hermione sighed. "All right, so I was exaggerating. He's asked me a couple of times, probably out of mere curiosity more than anything, what I want to do after Hogwarts. He seems pretty indecisive himself, though, so I don't know what his problem is." 

"I think," Harry began carefully, "that because you are the overachiever, he probably expects you to have everything all figured out... like you always do." 

"But I don't always have everything 'all figured out,' Harry," Hermione protested. "I told you both two years ago that I wasn't sure what career I wanted to pursue." 

Harry, noticing that Hermione was working herself up again, said in a lightly joking manner, "You're just good at too many things, 'Mione. That's the problem." 

Hermione was about to argue further, but then she realized that Harry was just teasing. He did have a point, though. "Oh, all right," she gave in. "Well, I suppose I had best take your advice and try and relax." 

"Yes, you do that," Harry smiled. 

Hermione released a single giggle and stood to leave. When she reached the stairs, she turned to face Harry one last time, saying softly, "Thank you, Harry." 

With Hermione gone, the common room sat quiet and empty. Of the four houses, Gryffindor had the most sick students, and Harry wondered if more of them had taken ill since the day before. The day was a Friday, and it was already late afternoon. The shortening of the days was all too evident as Harry peered out of the window. Walking over to where Hermione had left her things, he glanced down at the book she had been reading - or more like trying to read. 

It was a book on advanced Transfiguration. To Harry, it seemed blatantly obvious that Hermione had an extreme love for Transfiguration. He imagined his friend approaching McGonagall about it and expressing her desire to do something in that field, and he could see the older witch's face beaming favorably. Hermione had nothing to worry about. 

Harry made sure the proper page was marked, and closing the book, Harry carefully stacked her books and put her ink and quill away. He sighed, growing quite bored, and slumped into one of the comfortable armchairs. His eyelids growing heavy, he eventually slipped into sleep. 

By Halloween Day, even more people were sick at Hogwarts. Dumbledore insisted that the festivities go on as planned, though, for there were a few people who would still be able to fully enjoy them. During the feast, Dumbledore managed to make his way to the Great Hall and take his place at the head table. He was feeling slightly better, but for the most part, the food on his plate remained untouched. 

As Harry sat at the Gryffindor table, it was mostly empty, just as it had been most of the week. Of his friends, Ron had gotten the flu the worst, and so, the usual ferver he had for food was completely non-existent. He had remained in his bed. So had all of Harry's other friends. He glumly picked at the food, not really in the mood to even pretend that he was having a good time. Then, from the Ravenclaw table, he heard Luna's voice call his name. 

Harry turned to face her and found that she was dressed like a pumpkin from head to toe, and she had a ridiculous smile on her face. Smiling in spite of himself, Harry replied, "Hey, Luna." 

"Why don't you come over here and join me?" she invited. 

"Oh, all right," he easily gave in. Harry grabbed his plate and sat down next to Luna. 

"Do you like my costume?" she asked, her large eyes probing right into his. 

"Very festive," Harry murmured, clearly not impressed. 

"Oh, come on, Harry," Luna prodded. "Just because your friends are sick doesn't mean you have to be all down in the dumps." 

"Heh, easy for you to say, Luna... This has gotta be the worst Halloween Feast ever." 

"Look on the bright side, Harry," Luna exclaimed brightly. "There's more food to go around." 

Harry looked at her incredulously, yet again perplexed beyond words at how Luna was able to make some good come out of anything. Realizing that he should be grateful to still have his health in the midst of all the illness, some optimism sparked alive inside him. Luna had a way with words and a way of making people feel better even in the most dire of circumstances, as Harry recalled at the end of his fifth year when he thought he would never see Sirius again. He remembered that she had been the only person he didn't mind talking with at the time. 

"You're right," Harry conceded. "Thanks, Luna." 

Luna merely shrugged, but it was not clear whether or not she was aware of the power she had to bring hope to people. As Harry thought of the year ahead, he wondered if Luna would be the only one who would be able to bring hope to even the most dire situation. 

That Halloween night marked sixteen years to the day when Voldemort had been nearly destroyed by the infant Harry Potter. While his near-destruction had left the wizarding world in somewhat of a chaotic mess with the aftermath of his seeming-downfall, a chaotic mess was in the midst of brewing now that was unparalleled by anything the modern wizarding world had seen. In one particular house in Great Britain, where had lived a witch and her Muggle husband, a great cry went up into the night sky. The Dark Mark hung over the house, proclaiming yet another victory for the Dark Lord. 


	42. Chapter FortyTwo

Chapter Forty-Two

November 1 dawned. It was one of those days when, even though the sun is out, no warmth comes from its light. One look at the sky from his office window was enough for Dumbledore to feel chilled to the bone. The sky was grey with cloud-cover, but in the midst of those clouds, a white-silver orb glowed dimly. It seemed even the sun was affected by the events of last night. With a long, drawn-out sigh, Dumbledore turned away from the window, took his seat at his desk, removed his half-moon glasses, and rubbed at his tired eyes. He supposed the most difficult part of his job as head of the Order was about to happen that evening. The Order had already been notified of the horrific events, but to make matters even worse, one of their own was directly affected by the events from Halloween night. 

Not only was an Order meeting scheduled for that evening, but it would also be in a new location. Dumbledore felt that they were no longer safe meeting at Grimmauld Place, not since Voldemort had managed to enter Harry's mind and find out secret information. Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, had reluctantly agreed to allowing the Order to meet in the basement of the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade. The clientele were oftentimes described as suspicious and shady in the pub, but the meeting would be taking place after the pub had locked its doors for the night. Dumbledore cleverly thought that holding the meeting in a long-thought suspicious place would be a good cover-up. No one would ever suspect. 

As the day passed, Harry wondered what news would be revealed at the meeting that night. Dumbledore had refused to elaborate further when he notified him that morning. In fact, Dumbledore had not told any of the members much of anything... just that there was to be an urgent meeting that evening and that there had been an attack. With curiosity and a looming feeling of foreboding growing in the pit of his stomach, Harry and the other Order members waited for the remaining hours of the day to pass. When darkness had fallen, and the clock chimed at the appropriate time a half-hour before the meeting was to commence, Harry left Hogwarts, accompanied by Lupin, and began walking across the frosted grounds to Hogsmeade. 

Walking through the village was eerie. The streets were dark and desolate, nearly devoid of people. What a contrast it was in comparison to the many times Harry had frequented the little shops with his friends on a Hogsmeade weekend, hearing the laughter and conversations of passersby. 

When Harry could tolerate the silence no longer, he asked, "What do you think we'll find out? Who do you think was attacked?" 

Hearing Harry's words hang in the air unanswered, Lupin could do nothing but shrug. From within the confines of one of the pockets on his shabby coat, Sirius frowned, growing ever more impatient and anxious to hear the horrible news. Harry had voiced what many people were wondering. When they came upon the Hog's Head at the bad end of town, they filed into the backdoor, keeping their eyes ever-vigilant. Lupin hastily pushed Harry into the doorway first, then entered himself, and closed the door securely. 

There in front of them was a narrow, long hallway, which extended to another door. Only a few spare sconces lit the corridor, and as they tentatively walked over the ancient floorboards, they creaked and rattled in protest. Breathing in the musty air, Harry had to try hard to refrain from sneezing. He idly wondered when the last time was this passage had been used. The stiff, stale feeling, combined with the tight space, made him feel hemmed in and claustrophobic. Finally, they reached the other door, and Harry extended his arm to open it. He glanced back at Lupin for reassurance, and upon Lupin's affirmative nod, Harry turned the handle, and with a click, the door squeaked open slowly. 

Staring into the darkness that lay before him, Harry's eyes had to momentarily adjust before he could see the stairs. He proceeded with caution, feeling like he had just entered a forbidden place. One by one, Harry took the steps, afraid they might very well give under even his meagre weight. When he resolutely reached the bottom, he was thankful. Simply surviving the trek to arrive at the meeting place seemed quite a feat in and of itself. 

Next time, Harry thought about simply apparating. True, that would mean having to walk across the grounds of Hogwarts first and then apparating only a very short distance, but he thought it better than this. Then, with a sinking feeling, Harry realized that he would not be able to apparate directly into the basement of the Hog's Head, anyway. No doubt there were wards by the dozen placed on the old pub. 

As Harry found himself gazing around the room, he noticed an old man sitting impatiently in the dimly-lit room. At first glance, Harry would have thought it was Dumbledore in a very foul mood, but then Harry realized that it had to be his brother, Aberforth. 

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Aberforth barked. "Sit down, sit down." 

Harry nodded like a child afraid to disobey and took a seat. Dumbledore could command so much simply by his presence, but his brother needed to use his voice to have the same effect. Despite some physical resemblance, the similarities ended there. Harry wondered how they could even be related, but then his mind quickly thought of his own mother and how very different she had been from his aunt Petunia. Blood could only mean so much, he supposed. 

It was with heavy hearts that the rest of the members entered the room. The atmosphere was too convenient for their current collective mood, mirroring all-too-well the feeling of helplessness and despair. Harry wondered how they could be brought to such a low, but then he understood. Snape was not the last one to arrive this time. At the bottom of the stairs appeared the lone form of Nymphadora Tonks. One look into her eyes was enough to tell Harry... In those empty eyes spoke the volumes of loss, sadness, anger, hopelessness, and grief that she was experiencing in every part of her body. Trembling, Tonks stepped toward Dumbledore, who immediately took the young Auror into his comforting arms, embracing her as if she were his own daughter. In a way, she was. To Dumbledore, every member of the Order was like a child to him, even if they didn't realize it, for, to him, they were his all and his everything. They were the ones amongst thousands of wizards and witches who had given themselves fully to his cause. They truly believed as he believed, and they constituted a rare and precious thing to be found in a world far too full of lies and deceit: true loyalty from the heart. 

No one could hear what the aged wizard murmured in her ear, but they stayed that way for a long time, everyone looking on in admiration and sympathy. Finally, her tears subsided, Tonks sat down next to Dumbledore, all the while her gaze fixed on her lap. 

With a hand on her back, Dumbledore glanced around the room. Finally, he spoke: "I think it goes without saying who has suffered the most. You have all just witnessed what loss can do to even one of our own. Yes... that is right. On the eve of Halloween, Andromeda and Ted Tonks were attacked and murdered by about half a dozen of Voldemort's Death Eaters." 

Dumbledore gazed down at Tonks like a loving grandfather and murmured, "I am truly sorry, my dear. They were wonderful people and deserved better." 

Tonks choked back a sob upon hearing the words "attacked" and "murdered." There was no way to say the truth that would make it any less bearable, but the truth, raw and harsh, was the best thing. Sitting next to Tonks on the other side was Lupin, and he felt a pang in his heart. He knew all too well what she was going through, for he had lost his parents in much the same manner during the first war. Thinking back on those times, Lupin realized that he had been nearly the age Tonks now was, and like Tonks, his mother had been a witch who had married a Muggle man. The similarities were disconcerting... at say the very least. 

Several of the women gasped and felt their eyes begin to tear up, while the men stared resolutely at Dumbledore, wondering what he would say next. Everyone wondered what Dumbledore could possibly say that would ease the pain, and all the while, looking into each and every one of their saddened, desperate, anguished eyes, Dumbledore wished, more than ever, that with a mere wave of the wand, he could solve all their problems, heal all their wounds, ease all their woes and suffering. But he knew it was not so. 

Sirius wanted to jump out of Lupin's pocket and comfort his dear cousin. Andromeda had always been his favorite cousin, as she was the only decent one from the bunch. He remembered with an embittered, hardened heart how during family gatherings Andromeda would be mocked cruelly by her two sisters, Bellatrix and Narcissa. While Bellatrix was simply downright evil, Narcissa was incredibly vain. Sirius remembered trying to comfort his cousin on several occasions, even though she was a few years older than him. To think that she was now dead felt like someone had taken an icy fist and ripped his heart right out from his chest. 

Harry, meanwhile, sat there, completely and utterly stunned beyond words. Attacks were becoming more and more pronounced and common as the war wore on, but to see the effects of such loss on the face of one of their own made everything all the more real. Harry had to control himself from jumping out of his seat and demanding they all go and seek out Voldemort right then and there. Hell, he would have gladly taken the responsibility solely upon himself if no one else would accompany him, but just as Harry felt the urge to finally speak, Dumbledore resumed talking. 

"It is unfortunate that we are running out of options," he declared heavily. "I fear to say that this war has escalated to the point where we are truly at a loss... until Voldemort comes face-to-face and stops hiding in the shadows. He will continue to use any means necessary to spread his hatred." 

"Absurd!" Moody growled, standing up. "Albus, are you off your bloody rocker? I don't care what you say... We still could be doing more, making more of an effort... Wards can still be increased, I believe, along with the power of protection offered by skilled and professionally trained Aurors." 

"It is true," Kingsley added, "that since we do have the support of the Ministry now, we can perhaps convince others to join our ranks. I can see what I can do to ensure more Aurors are stationed wherever need be." 

Dumbledore nodded. "That is true, Kingsley, and go ahead to do so, but as for increasing the wards, Alastor, we are running out of spells to perform. Every time the wards are strengthened, Voldemort seems to find a way around them. If anyone has any ideas, I invite you to give them. Maybe I am simply not thinking of all our options in my ever-growing years." 

"What other choice do we have but to fight?" Harry finally asked, challenging the group with his very words. "I say we bring the battle to Voldemort. How much longer are we going to wait like lambs going to the slaughter?" 

Harry's young, energetic mind was restless. He knew what they would say before he even spoke, and Dumbledore's words came as no surprise when he responded, "Harry, my boy, we have been through this before. Trying to track Voldemort is an impossible task. We are at his mercies now, but we must and will be prepared for when he chooses to strike." 

"We haven't been prepared from what I can see so far," Harry challenged. "Why aren't our spies gathering any useful information as to his plans and whereabouts?" 

"Because, Potter," came Snape's quiet voice, "the Dark Lord has not summoned us." 

"Oh," Harry said dumbly. "Well... there must be something we can do!" he sputtered insistently. 

Dumbledore shook his head. Harry was reminded all-too-well of his meeting with the Headmaster in his office on his first day back at Hogwarts two months previously. Just as he had felt then, Harry felt the overwhelming urge to literally shake the old man, who he was beginning to think of as being an old fool, especially if he continued to act in this manner. 

The rest of the meeting passed uneventfully, and upon its conclusion, the members of the Order murmured their apologies and expressed their condolences to Tonks for her loss. When Snape came to her, Tonks thought her eyes to be deceiving her for a moment, for she had never seen such a haunted look in the Potion Master's black eyes before. 

"I am truly sorry for your loss," Snape whispered, looking only briefly into Tonks's astonished eyes. Before she could reply, he turned away and left the room so quickly, she thought he had apparated away. 

Harry hugged Tonks and said determinatedly, "Don't worry, Tonks. I'll make sure that monster never hurts anyone ever again." 

Tonks could only nod at Harry's words. She knew he meant well, but no amount of revenge could ever bring back her parents. Dumbledore offered his sympathies one last time and returned with Harry to Hogwarts. The room had emptied of everyone save Lupin, who was gazing at Tonks in a whole new light. The way the dim candlelight danced across his tear-stained face only made her appear more beautiful to him. He had always thought her to be a lovely young lady, with a lively spirit and a kind, caring heart, but now he felt like they shared something. Only she didn't know it... yet. 

"You're not alone, you know," Lupin said gently. 

Tonks sniffed but did not say anything. 

"I know you don't know this, but I lost my parents in the same way... only that was years ago," Lupin whispered, recalling those horrible memories. "I... I don't mean this to sound selfish, but I do understand how you're feeling, Tonks, and if you want to talk to someone, just know that I'm here for you." 

Tonks couldn't stand to listen to the gentleness of his voice and felt herself crumble under the weight of Lupin's well-intentioned words. Falling to the floor as if all energy had left her, Tonks buried her face in her hands and began crying all over again. In an instant, Lupin was at her side, and before either of them could comprehend what was going on, Lupin was wrapping his arms around her smaller form, totally encompassing her frail frame, whispering little nothings into her ears. 

There, together on the damp, uneven floor in that dark basement, hope and comfort were renewed. In such an unlikely place of such cold, warmth was found. It was as if Lupin was transferring some of his strength to Tonks, and after several long minutes, Tonks looked into Lupin's soft eyes. 

"I always hated the name they gave me," she mumbled, releasing a small, mirthless laugh. "Nymphadora... I used to spit it out, saying, 'Who would give their daughter such a horrid name?' And now, wouldn't you know? I regret ever saying those horrible words. They were my parents, Remus! They loved me, and I... I had the nerve to complain about the name they had chosen to give me." 

"I think it's a beautiful name," Lupin replied softly, with total sincerity in his voice, leaving Tonks no room to doubt his words. 

"You do?" she asked, truly surprised. 

"Yes, Nymphadora." 

Author's Note: According to what Sirius said about his cousin Andromeda was that she "was" his cousin, but it never specifically said that she was dead. While some may assume that she is dead, it was never actually stated, so I believe whether or not she would still be alive is a matter of interpretation. Well, either way, she is dead now. :p 


	43. Chapter FortyThree

Chapter Forty-Three

Lupin and Tonks sat there in the dank basement of the Hog's Head for quite some time. Neither had realized how much time had passed while wrapped in each other's arms, but finally, when Lupin sensed that the hour had grown very late, he glanced at his watch, and the fact was confirmed. 

"It's nearing midnight very quickly," he observed. 

Shocked, Tonks's eyes grew large as she removed herself from Lupin's space. "Oh, dear Merlin," she groaned. "How could I let all that time just pass by like that? I should have been home hours ago..." In the midst of her frets, she chanced a look at Lupin. "I'm so sorry for taking up your time like this. You probably have a lot of things waiting for you back at Hogwarts." 

"Shh, shh," Lupin said softly, gently placing a finger on her lips. "There's nothing to be sorry about. Besides, if the students have to wait an extra day or two to get their results back on an exam, it's not a big deal." He smiled wryly at her. 

Lupin tried not to smile further and burst into laughter when he heard light snoring coming from within the confines of his pocket. Tonks cast him a quizzical look. 

"What?" she asked. 

"Oh, a silly thing, really," he said, shrugging. "Your cousin must have grown so bored that he's fallen asleep in my pocket." 

"Sirius?" Tonks asked. "Oh, that's right. I had almost forgotten he was in your pocket. Kind of makes the last couple of hours seem a little less... erm..." She felt like saying "intimate," but she found herself growing shy as she stood there so close to him. What if he didn't mean anything more by spending the past couple of hours with her than just being there as a friend to offer his comfort and support? 

Lupin noticed that Tonks's gaze was downcast and could practically feel the nerves radiating from her being. He cleared his throat awkwardly, knowing that to finish her sentence for her could perhaps ruin their friendship. 

_What if she doesn't even want to think of me in that way? As possibly something more than just a friend? Oh, Remus, old boy! You're a fool! She's something like twelve years younger than you! To her, you're probably an old man! And a poor one at that..._

While Lupin inwardly berated himself, Tonks took note of his uneasiness. She misinterpreted his discomfort, thinking he had grown tired of her company. Deciding it best to end the night before something worse happened, Tonks suggested, "Perhaps I ought to get going. You know... the late hour and all..." 

As she trailed off, Lupin finally managed to silence his inner thoughts and worries and focus only on her words. _It's now or never._

"I could, uh, take you home," he offered, sounding akin to a teenage boy asking a girl for a dance. "You really shouldn't be alone at such a late hour of the night." 

Lupin didn't know it, but his words caused Tonks's heart to leap with glee inside. Feeling her cheeks burning with this newfound emotion, she managed a smile and nodded. "Thank you. That's quite kind of you. I mean, you don't have to if you don't want to-" 

"I want to," Lupin blurted before he could stop himself. 

His admission was enough for their doubts to die on the spot. There was no longer any doubt that they were beginning to form feelings for each other, and it was endearing to Tonks that he would think of her in this way. So, together, they left the basement, exitted through the back door, and apparated to the door to Tonks's little cottage. 

Tonks's humble home was located in the countryside and was surrounded by forest on all sides. They both had to utter _Lumos_ to get a little light, as the sky was overcast. The chilliness of the breeze was all-to-evident as it blew, rustling the nearly bare trees and the hair on their heads. 

"Well, this is it," Tonks remarked, unsure of what to say. 

"It's nice," Lupin replied with a smile. 

"Would you, er, like to come in... for a cup of tea?" Tonks offered. 

"Thank you, but no, I think I ought to be heading back." In all truth, Lupin wanted to remain with her a little while longer, but now that she was home, she would be more or less safe. As an Auror, her home was unplottable. He didn't what to further impose himself on her, and if there was even the smallest amount of chemistry developing between them, Lupin didn't want to push his luck. He had spent more time with this pretty, young lady this evening than he had spent with anyone of the opposite sex in years. 

"Well, all right," Tonks sighed. "I'll see you soon, then?" 

"Of course." 

"Good night, Remus. And thank you again for... for everything." 

"Good night, Nymphadora," he replied, still growing accustomed to the feel of the name on his tongue. Leaning toward her, Lupin softly brushed his lips against her cheek in a swift motion and then apparated away. 

After he left, Tonks entered her home, a small smile decorating her face. In the midst of so many tears, she had found happiness. Once she was fully inside, she touched the place on her cheek where Lupin had kissed her, wondering if it was just her imagination that that particular area felt warmer than the rest of her body. 

She proceeded to remove her coat and shoes and walked into the living room, where she sat down on the couch and started a fire in the grate with a simple _Incendio_. Once she felt settled, she picked up the framed picture she had of her parents that she had kept on the table next to her couch for years. They were much younger in that particular photograph that they had been when they died. They smiled at Tonks and waved, placed their arms around each other lovingly, and continued to look past the glass that separated them from the outside world. Tonks knew that the reality of the situation was the much more than a thin piece of mere glass separated her from her parents. 

Placing the photograph back onto the table, Tonks wondered just how far away the world of the living was from the world of the dead. The living seldom think about death, as it is something that people simply do not feel comfortable discussing. She believed that they were in a better place and realized that, in a way, they were better off now. They were now free from the cruelties and suffering of the world of the living. 

Her thoughts eventually began to drift, and Tonks felt her eyelids growing heavy, so she retired to her room for the night. Once she was settled in bed, she closed her eyes and entered into the world of dreams, where, it seemed, the barrier that divides the world of the living and the world of the dead was torn down. The great chasm was unbreached, and the mystery of where people go when they die was answered. As Dumbledore had once told Harry, those who we love never really leave us. They are still with us in spirit, in our hearts, and Tonks awoke the next morning knowing that she would be reunited with her parents one day. 

A few days later, Lupin was grading papers in his office, while Sirius, from his vantage point, gazed on with an ever-growing expression of boredom. All week, he had been asking Lupin when he was going to see Tonks again, urging him to ask her out to dinner. 

"Like a date?" Lupin had inquired, feeling a knot beginning to form in his stomach. 

"Yes, you silly git," Sirius had teased. "'Like a date.' Or how 'bout just 'a date?' Geez, Louise, Moony! You're acting just like you did when we were students!" 

Lupin had cast him a half-hearted glare, but there had been no malice in it. The rest of the week had passed in more or less the same manner. 

"You know," Sirius now said knowingly, plainly and purposefully interrupting Lupin's train of thought as he tried in vain to focus on grading, "I could ask you the same thing, but before I do, I have to ask you if you'll finally give me a real answer." Sirius coated his last few words with dripping sarcasm. 

Lupin resisted the urge to roll his eyes and placed the quill down. He gave Sirius an expectant look and simply sighed. 

"I don't want to rush anything," Lupin insisted. "You know I was never the ladies' man in my youth. What makes you think I would be twenty-some years later? You were the one with the looks, Sirius, and as I recall, you knew it, too. You could turn on the charm heavy and thick, and you wouldn't relent until-" 

"Until the lucky lass said yes," Sirius said smugly. "Yes, I was rather charming in my prime, wasn't it? Alas," he continued dramatically, "those days have long since passed, and I now find myself as worn as can be!" 

Lupin chuckled, shaking his head in amusement. "You're something else, you know that?" 

"Well, I might very well be something else," Sirius acknowledged, growing serious again, "but you are _really_ something else. Honestly, Moony, you're not a bad bloke. Some girls like the quiet, shy ones, and in way of looks, well, you're much better looking than Snape." 

"Be nice," Lupin mock-lectured. He paused, then added thoughtfully, "Maybe you are right for once. It couldn't hurt to ask." 

"Nope, it wouldn't. In fact, for you, my lonely friend, I think it would hurt more _not_ to ask. I can just picture it now - You'll be locking yourself up pitifully in your room, and the only one you'll complain to about the whole escapade will be me." 

Finally, Lupin did roll his eyes. "Well, at least I got you to stop goading me to ask her in the first place." 

With a triumphant nod, Sirius knew that his work here was done. "Off to visit Harry!" he exclaimed, saluting Lupin as he disappeared out of his picture. 

Lupin didn't have to ask the reason why he would be visiting Harry. It was all too obvious. 

In the Gryffindor common room, Harry was in the middle of studying when Sirius suddenly appeared in one of the paintings nearby. He didn't even notice him at first, for his attention was on reading his Charms book, but when Sirius yelled, "Hiya, Harry," Harry looked up and smiled. 

"Hey!" Harry exclaimed, unable to hide the fact that he was happy to see his godfather. 

"Well, you'll never guess what I finally got him to do," Sirius said proudly. 

Harry didn't have to ask who Sirius was talking about, for Sirius had been in and out of the common room all week, filling Harry in on the latest lack of developments as far as "Project Hook-Up Remus and Tonks" was concerned. While Harry had left the Order meeting over a week ago feeling horrible for Tonks, this new development gave Sirius and him something to talk about that would keep their minds occupied. They were happy for both Lupin and Tonks, but as the days passed, both began to wonder if Lupin would ever gather the courage to ask Tonks out on a date. 

"You mean, you finally managed it?" Harry asked, his eyes lighting up, a bit shocked, but quite pleased. "Why d'you suppose it took this long? He was in Gryffindor. You'd think he'd've had more courage." 

"Yes, perhaps," Sirius mused, "but I seem to recall _you,_ Harry, being just as nervous around girls. Your mate Ron isn't any better, either." 

"Okay, point taken," Harry surrendered. "Anyway, that's great. It's about time, too!" 

"Yeah, I'd say!" Sirius exclaimed exasperatedly, loud enough for a few other students to hear him, causing them to cast several curious (some annoyed) glances in the direction of the painting. 

"Oops, a little too loud there, eh?" Sirius asked, winking. 

"Yeah, just a little." 

"Well, since I've delivered the message, I guess I'd best let you get back to your studies there, Harry. Merlin knows you need to do well this year, what with being a future Auror and all." Sirius smiled proudly at his godson. 

"Well, I'm not an Auror yet," Harry replied, "but here's hoping." 

"Yep, here's hoping," Sirius echoed, saluting Harry in the same manner in which he had previously saluted Lupin. 

When Saturday finally arrived, Lupin decided that if he was going to ask Tonks out on a date, he had better pay her a visit when he wasn't busy and she wasn't working. So, walking across the freezing grounds of Hogwarts, Lupin made his way to the other side of the boundaries and focused on apparating to his destination. When he appeared in front of her house, his felt butterflies begin to flutter in his stomach. 

_Okay, so maybe this was a bad idea..._ His doubts were getting the worst of him as he started to second-guess himself. Now that he was physically here, the courage he had worked up seemed to evaporate completely. A part of him called himself a bloody coward, but the other part didn't seem to mind so much being called a coward, as that part seemed all-too-ready to admit it as fact. 

_I'm NOT a coward! I can do this! But I haven't been in a situation like this in ages... Being a werewolf all those years didn't exactly make dating an easy option, but that's not a problem anymore._

Finally, Lupin, growing impatient with the voices that were carrying out a rather long, heated, irrational argument in his head, literally stomped his foot on the ground. 

_ENOUGH!_

Clenching his fists, he braced himself and took a tentative step toward the door. Swallowing slowly, the thick saliva scratching his dry throat, Lupin raised his right fist to the door and made to knock... 

Then the door suddenly opened! 

Certainly not expecting this, Lupin jumped back and released a shocked gasp into the frigid air. Standing in the doorway, equally surprised, was Tonks, her eyes large and her mouth agape. For a split second, they both stood there, too stunned to move or say anything. Then, when they did speak, it was at the same time. 

"Remus? Wha- What are you doing here?" 

"I'm sorry, so sorry- I was just-" 

Lupin knew he was stammering pathetically and trailed off without ever formingly a fully coherent sentence, leaving Tonks just staring at him, waiting for an explanation. 

"I, er... was just in the neighborhood," he offered feebly. 

_Oh, a real fine thing to say!_ Lupin thought, angry at himself for being so foolish. 

"'In the neighborhood?'" Tonks asked in disbelief. "Er... right." 

They both knew it was a lousy excuse, for there was certainly no "neighborhood" to speak of in the middle of a forest in the countryside. Tonks knew without a doubt the real reason for his coming, and she was touched by it. 

"I was actually just headed out for a little walk," she began, trying to clear the air between them. "Would you, er, care to join me?" 

"That would be lovely," Lupin replied, managing a small smile. 

So, they took that "little walk," as Tonks had so nicely put it, and afterwards, they returned to Tonks's quaint cottage and sat by the fireside and talked over hot tea. Without realizing it and without having to ask her for a date, Lupin had made a special date out of that afternoon by just spending time with her. When dinnertime drew near, Tonks offered to cook something, and Lupin kindly offered to help. Finally, over dinner, Tonks asked between mouthfuls, "So, enlighten me, Remus, what was your real reason for coming by today?" 

"To spend time with you," he said. "And to ask you if you would like to do it again sometime." 

He was pleasantly surprised when she grasped his hand in hers and squeezed it earnestly. "That would be lovely." 


	44. Chapter FortyFour

Chapter Forty-Four

_His head was spinning from the bloodrush his over-active heart was pounding into his brain, making it feel like his head would explode at any minute. Stalking madly through the dungeon corridors, he finally reached the entrance to the Slytherin common room, where he barked the password at the portrait there and proceeded to enter, slamming the door shut behind him. He didn't care if the noise woke his fellow students, nor did he care how late it was. He had had enough, damn it, and he wanted nothing more than to leave this accursed place once and for all. _

When he entered the room he shared with the other boys his age, a couple of them cast him strange looks. 

"What the bloody hell are you staring at?" he demanded. 

The one boy was about to ask about the noise, but Severus didn't want to hear it. He turned on his heel and strode out of the room, wanting to be alone, now more than ever. Going back down to the common room, he glowered at the surroundings and found that being in this place simply wouldn't do. So, throwing the rules to the wind, he left the Slytherin common room and went back into the dark halls. 

As he searched for a hiding place, he knew he was blatantly disregarding the Headmaster's request - no, demand - that he return to his dormitory immediately, no questions asked. Finally, finding a safe and secure broom closet, Severus locked himself inside and cast a half dozen or so charms to insure his privacy. 

As was customary during times like these, he began taking out his aggression on the unsuspecting flies that were found buzzing about the ceiling. Aiming his wand at one, he hexed it, and then another, then another, and another. But hexing innocent flies into oblivion couldn't satisfy his rage. 

The whole utter unfairness of the situation did far more than irk him. This time, Dumbledore had gone too far. The old man had always shown favor to his sickeningly-beloved Gryffindors, even though he claimed to have an understanding and an appreciation for all four houses of Hogwarts. 

Sure,_ Severus thought bitterly, _it's easy enough for you to love those annoying Hufflepuffs and those bookworm Ravenclaws, but who would ever ask you to even show the smallest amount of hope for my house? Being sorted into Slytherin my first day here, I knew then that I would already be pre-determined to go to hell.

Everything had started innocently enough earlier that evening... well, as innocently as things usually occurred between Severus and the Marauders. He had been spying on them yet again, looking for a reason to get them expelled... or at the very least in trouble. They were always causing trouble, that he knew, but they always seemed to suffer nothing worse than a mere detention or a few house points deducted for their purposeful misconduct. Although Severus would never admit it, he was jealous of them in a way. They were all such close friends, and there were times where he swore he would give an arm to have friendship like that in his life. 

Oh, sure, he had his fellow classmates who others may have called his friends, but they were hardly that. One of the first things Severus had learned by being placed into Slytherin that he could trust no one, especially in his own house. The cunning nature of a Slytherin meant doing whatever was necessary to achieve the desired ends, even if that meant sacrificing a friendship. One thing that Severus knew made him an oddity in this house was that betraying a friend was going too far. He knew he was a lot of unpleasant, not-so-nice things, but he did not believe himself to be a traitor. 

The only friend he had to betray was Lily Evans, anyway. 

Lily. What will she think of all this?

He felt a pang of worry begin to surface inside. Surely she would know by morning. No doubt Potter would tell her everything, from his point of view, of course... about how he had heroically saved that loser Snape's pathetic excuse for a life. 

No! She wouldn't believe him! She doesn't even like him, so why am I even worrying?

Because Severus knew he had been out of bounds that day. He had always had his suspicions as to why Lupin wasn't present in class for a couple of days on a monthly basis. Black got word of this and apparently thought it would be a very hilarious prank indeed to show Severus were Lupin went during those days of the month. Some prank. What kind of prank results in someone almost losing his life? But Dumbledore didn't think of this "prank" as anything more than just that... a prank. 

Dumbledore hadn't been there when a snarling, bloodthirsty, untamed werewolf was suddenly directly in his face, practically devouring him already. Severus had been scared beyond reason in that horrifying moment and found his feet frozen to the ground. He remembered feeling a hand yanking frantically on his arm, roughly pulling him away from the beast. Somehow, Potter had gotten him away from the scene just in time. He recalled gazing at Potter, shocked in the aftermath, but had felt the anger begin to well up inside him the moment Potter had dared to speak. 

"What d'you think you were playing at back there, Snape? Couldn't keep your big nose outta other people's business, eh? Now look where it's gotten you - almost killed!" 

Severus had recoiled from Potter and had sent him a loathsome glare. "Wait until Dumbledore finds out what you've all been hiding! You'll be expelled for sure, and it would be about time, too! I bet Black had a merry time tonight, what with nearly getting me killed and all!" 

"It was supposed to be a joke!" Potter had protested vehemently. "Even I thought he'd gone too far, and as much as a git you are, even you don't deserve to be put in that type of danger." 

Severus had then rolled his eyes. "Do you expect me to believe you for one moment?" he had asked sarcastically. "You were saving your own skin as much as mine. You just don't want to face the fact that you might very well be expelled now!" 

"We'll see about that, Snape!" Potter had yelled, roughly shoving him aside. 

Severus had been in hot pursuit of Potter all the way to the Headmaster's office. There, they had argued their case in front of Dumbledore, and Severus had thought his jaw would break from the way his mouth was left gaping open when all the old man did in way of punishment was tell Potter that he and Black would be receiving detention for a week. Potter had been sent away, and Severus could still now hear Dumbledore's words of warning ringing through his ears: 

"I am only going to warn you this once, Mr. Snape. You should not meddle in things that are not of your concern. I have been well aware of Mr. Lupin's condition ever since he began attending this school, and his friends have been faithful and true and kept his secret safe. I trust you will not tell anyone what you have seen, lest you put Mr. Lupin in jeopardy. Werewolves are not easily accepted by the majority of wizarding society, but here, I believe everyone should be given an equal chance. You are to return to your dormitory immediately if you have no wounds that need treatment. In the future, I expect better behavior on your part." 

Severus now wondered what Dumbledore was playing at. He had the nerve to say that everyone was to be treated equally, and yet, Severus felt on numerous occasions that Slytherin was trampled on and neglected by the Headmaster. He felt that Dumbledore turned a blind eye to the behavior of the Marauders and the Gryffindors in general. It was true that Severus had not received detention, but Dumbledore's words had stung. They still did. 

When his mind grew numb from mulling over that evening's events, Severus sighed heavily and finally returned to his dormitory room and surrendered to sleep. 

The next day began as usual, with most people simply ignoring him as he walked through the corridors and sat in class. During Double Potions that afternoon, though, Severus noticed that Lily never looked in his direction once. When his concentration began to waver, for he had been staring in her direction far too often, his potion boiled over, and the teacher reprimanded him, deducting house points from Slytherin. Severus knew he heard sniggering in the direction where the Marauders were always seated. He felt his temper flare, but managed to keep himself calm enough until class was over. 

Wanting nothing to do with those whose supposed prank had almost resulted in his death, Severus darted out of the room. He spent dinner just as he had breakfast and lunch: alone. Finally, seeking out the quietude of the library, he entered the silent haven and took a seat in his usual place to study. After a little while, he got the distinct impression that someone was watching him, and so, glancing up cautiously from his book, he noticed Lily seated not too far away. The moment his black eyes met her green eyes, though, she quickly diverted hers and pretended she was busy reading. Severus wasn't fooled for a second. 

He closed his book and stood up. If there was one person whose opinion mattered, it was Lily's. They had been friends for a long time by now and had even started becoming more than that. He thought he even loved her, and so, he knew he would have to talk to her about last night's incident. 

"Hello, Lily," he said neutrally. 

Lily looked up from her book, with a blank expression on her pretty face. She appeared closed. "Hi," she replied off-handedly, like she was merely greeting a stranger. 

She didn't even say my name._ Feeling the nerves begin to twist in his stomach, Severus frowned. He sat down in one of the chairs nearby and regarded her closely. "Lily," he finally stated. _

With raised eyebrows, Lily asked, as if surprised he was even speaking to her, "Yes?" 

He was growing ever more impatient. He had had enough of everybody's games for one day. "Don't act like you don't know!" he exclaimed angrily. 

"Oh, yes, Severus... I know plenty well. You simply had to go snooping around, didn't you? There are some things you really don't have a right to know, and whether you like it or not, Remus and I are friends. I might not get on well with the others in their little circle, but Remus is a good person, and he deserved for his secret to remain a secret." 

"So... so... all this time? You... you knew?" he stuttered, unable to believe she would keep such a thing from him. He thought they shared everything. 

"Yes, I knew," Lily replied curtly, "and, like I said, it was none of your concern, Severus. You're just lucky James was there to save your life. Why would you do something so incredibly stupid, to almost get yourself killed?" 

"I didn't know I could have gotten killed!" he exploded, standing up and beginning to pace. "Do you think for one second that I would have gone into that tunnel had I known I could have died! If you've known the truth about that- that monster, that beast all this time, you could have told me and saved me a lot of trouble, and then I wouldn't have risked my life in the process of trying to find out the truth about that-!" 

Lily lost her temper by now as well and was standing, staring at Severus in disbelief. "Don't call him such horrible names! What's he ever done to you?" 

"Maybe he's done nothing to me directly," Severus blared hotly, "but his friends certainly have! He's certainly done nothing to stop them!" 

"And your attitude doesn't help matters any! Many times, Severus, you're just a guilty as they are in all these escapades, but I've defended you all these years, and-" 

"Then stop trying to fend for me!" he roared, towering over her. "If Lupin means so much to you, why don't you just go find him and tell him how much you need him? I don't need you, that's for sure, not if you're this type of friend! Ha!" he laughed bitterly. "Some friend! I don't need anybody, and I most certainly don't need you, Evans!" 

Lily was speechless. Throughout the years, she had been witness to many of Severus's tirades, but his words now stung unlike anything she had even heard from him. Tears welled up in her eyes and spilled over, flowing down her cheeks. With a shaky hand, she reached out to touch his shoulder, saying desperately, quietly, "Severus... surely... surely you don't mean that?" 

For a long time, he didn't look into her eyes, but when he did, she gasped. His eyes were so incredibly cold, and his words were like icy daggers penetrating straight through her chest, killing her heart. 

"I meant every word," he said with such finality that she was left to pick up the pieces, but their friendship was beyond repair. He turned and left, and from that day forward, Lily and Severus were no longer friends. He no longer could say that he hadn't betrayed a friend. 

For some time after that day, Lily found herself inevitably growing closer to Lupin, but with a heavy heart, Lupin had to eventually tell her that things wouldn't work out between them. He always feared his condition would put any lady in too much danger. Finally, in their seventh year, Lily surrendered herself to James, realizing that he had grown up. The rest was history. 

More than twenty years later now, Lupin was with a lady again, and Snape knew of this recent development between Lupin and Tonks, but it didn't bother him. Thinking back on his adolescent years, he realized yet again how many regrets he had. His choices had been mostly bad, but oddly enough, things had turned around one-hundred eighty degrees. Now, Lupin and Snape were on good terms. Not really friends, but certainly there was an understanding that had not been there before. 

As for Harry Potter, Snape usually left the boy alone nowadays. He looked more like his father than ever, now that he was a young man, but there were certain aspects of Harry that he had gotten from his mother. He could be thick-headed like his father, but he also was understanding like his mother, if only one would get past that thick-headedness of his. 

Sometimes, seeing Harry reminded Snape of Lily and of his final words to her. He oftentimes wondered how his life would have played out had he not walked out of her life so harshly and so unfairly all those years ago. Part of his reason - or so he believed - he had joined the Death Eaters was because of his bitterness over losing Lily and thus seeking companionship elsewhere, obviously in the wrong place. The Dark Mark was now a physical reminder of his worst decision ever, and Snape knew that one choice was the result of many bad choices made earlier in his life. 

The Dark Mark had not burned for months, and as Snape absently rubbed the mark under his sleeve now, he wondered yet again what the Dark Lord was planning. 

Then, with no warning, the mark burned. 

Soon Snape would perhaps know the Dark Lord's plans. 


	45. Chapter FortyFive

Chapter Forty-Five

This all had to be some cruelly sick joke, right? It simply had to be, what with the way he could just _play_ with him like this. As Snape apparated instantly to the place where he was being summoned, he felt his stomach lurch inside. He wanted to vomit and spit, cursing the Dark Lord, more so cursing himself for being ever-so-foolish all those years ago. The mark still burned, though, and its fire was consuming, and there was no way to deny it or the one who had placed it there. 

Oddly enough, Voldemort was standing near a fire on this particular horrific occasion, his snakelike, twisted form silhouetted against the blazened reds and oranges behind. The seeming-portrait was very much alive, something a sadistic painter would have created, merely for shock value to torment its onlookers. Keeping his mask firmly in place, Snape briefly shielded his eyes from the sight and turned his head away. 

The commotion of arriving Death Eaters was still fresh, wearing on mercilessly through the frigid air all around them. In a terribly dazzling array, their hoarse voices mixed and mingled with the fire's glow as it danced off the bare limbs of trees, their skeletons yet another reminder of the foreboding death brought by winter and the Dark Lord himself. 

Somewhere amidst the crowd, Snape knew Draco would be present, and admittedly, he had not had much time to spend with the boy, working on honing his spying skills. Whenever he had seen Draco, though, the boy seemed withdrawn and reclusive, which, for someone like Snape, was saying something. Now, in this deep, dark forest, was not the time for questions. The murmurs and excited talk alike came to an abrupt halt when Voldemort finally addressed them. 

"Welcome, my Death Eaters," he greeted them, as was customary. "The raids have been going well. With that, I am quite pleased. Thanks to you, there are less Muggles and Mudbloods in the world as we speak." 

Snape impatiently waited for him to say something worthy of knowing, something revealing, something interesting. Then, Voldemort said something that threw him. "As you know, we have discussed our plans in great details and at great lengths these past several months." 

_We have?_ Snape found himself wondering, then realized how foolish he was acting in letting his guard down. Quickly ensuring the barrier was back in place, Snape looked on emotionlessly. 

There was utter silence for several long, stretched-out minutes. Voldemort began to lazily pace the length of the diameter of the circle in which they stood, then walked the perimeter, simply watching them, saying nothing. Then, stopping, he said in a low hiss, "However, some of you have been a disappointment. You have taken me for a fool, and a fool I'll be made no longer. Yes, you know who you are. Do not deny it. Some of you... are not loyal." 

_Oh, dear Merlin,_ Snape thought, the realization of Voldemort's words sinking in. He stopped himself before any more thoughts could surface and form. 

But Voldemort was not looking at Snape. His eyes were resting on Draco. "Young Malfoy," the Dark Lord addressed him. 

Unable to keep himself from trembling, Draco asked, "Yes, Master?" 

"Step forward, please." The calmness of Voldemort's voice was deadly. 

Draco stepped forward tentatively, trying to keep his eyes on Voldemort. He was failing miserably. 

"Remove your mask," Voldemort patiently instructed. With shaky hands, Draco did so. Now, there was no hiding the fright on his face, in his pale eyes. He was completely afraid. 

"You took the mark. You knew what giving yourself to me meant, and yet, here it is, merely six months later, and you are pathetically standing in front of me. Do you deny it?" 

"I live only to serve you, my lord," Draco replied mechanically. 

"Liar!" Voldemort suddenly bellowed, causing Draco to flinch and fall to the ground, begging at his master's feet. Voldemort, disgusted, stepped back. "Do you defile me with your disgusting hands or filthy lips! Crabbe, Goyle, restrain him!" 

The fathers of Draco's former thug-comrades wrapped their burly arms around him, holding him firm and tight. He knew there was no escaping now. Voldemort now approached the struggling youth and stared at him straight in the eyes, and feeling the Dark Lord penetrating his mind, Draco tried feebly to block him, but Voldemort was already in too far. He saw visions of Draco with Harry Potter and of Draco alone, regretful of his decision to join the ranks with the Dark side. During this process, Snape looked on, unable to do a thing, knowing that if Voldemort saw a vision of him teaching Draco Occlumency, he would be the next one to go, if not already. 

Snape would have had to be as inhuman as Voldemort to not want to stop Draco's tormenter, but he knew that if he dared to act, his life would be forfeit on the spot, leaving Dumbledore and the rest of the Order without their trusty spy. If, for nothing else, Snape would stay alive as long as he could, hoping his service was ultimately benefitting the greater good. Now, though, he had to wonder: How much did he really know of Voldemort's plans? Did he know anything at all? If he knew nothing or next to nothing, perhaps Voldemort had already found him out and was purposefully hiding information from him. What good would he be, then, he wondered? A spy who could give nothing useful to the side of Light? 

As he swallowed down the last shreds of pride and self-worth, Snape's own words he had so harshly and unfairly hissed to Sirius nearly two years prior came back to bite him hard: _"Merely that I am sure you must feel - ah - frustrated by the fact that you can do nothing **useful** for the Order."_

But Snape could stand there, helpless and berating himself as much as he wanted, wishing now, too late, that he would have spent more time with Draco. He released a breath he didn't know he had been holding, causing the Death Eaters on either side of him to glance at him for a second. Had they not donned their masks, he knew quizzical looks would have covered their faces. He ignored them now, though, and turned his attention back to the scene before him. He was resigned to being able to do nothing. 

"So," Voldemort now whispered curtly. "It is true, then. You are a traitor. I had my suspicions months ago, and now it has been confirmed. You know what happens to traitors, young Malfoy." 

Draco swallowed his tongue. 

"Do you have anything to say?" Voldemort asked, prematurely amused at anything Draco might say. 

_If this is truly my end,_ Draco thought, finally finding his courage, _then so be it, but I'll have the last word yet._ Even in his last moments before death, Draco possessed that Malfoy pride and arrogance. 

Glaring loathingly at Voldemort, Draco twisted his mouth grotesquely, sucked in his breath, and spit in his pale, reptilian face. "Go to Hell," he breathed aggressively between clenched teeth. 

Voldemort was not amused. Bringing a hand to wipe the saliva from his cheek, Voldemort just as soon flicked his other hand, which held his wand firmly, in Draco's direction, bellowing two words that would end his life. 

_"Avada Kedavra!"_

A green flash of light and then... there was no more struggling from Draco's smaller form sandwiched between the two brutes-for-men. His head flopped forward onto his chest like a rag doll, and his body went limp. Crabbe and Goyle unceremoniously dropped his body, leaving Draco's crumpled form lying on the already dead ground. His eyes stared lifelessly into the clouded night sky. 

Witnessing the death of one of their own was always unsettling for the Death Eaters, so silence was once again hanging thick and heavy in the air. Snape closed his eyes, though very briefly, hoping that there would be some mercy for Draco in the life beyond. Voldemort, still breathing in the adrenaline of what he had just done, began pacing again, very quickly, every step measured and precise. 

"Now you have been reminded yet again of what happens to traitors," he told them at large. "Throughout the years, most of you have failed me in some way or another, and yet, there are others who seem to go above and beyond," he said these last words strangely, pausing, then continuing, "the call of duty that is required for a Death Eater. Yes, my dear friends..." Voldemort sneered here, having uttered the word "friends" like something that tasted rotten on his tongue and lips. "Yes, yes... some who pose as important officials in the Ministry or elsewhere, who have many ties, who know who to rub elbows with, and who take those clueless, foolish creatures and puppet them into our schemes." 

Here, he stopped pacing, and Snape realized the Dark Lord was standing directly in front of him. "What have you to report, Snape?" Voldemort inquired suddenly, as if purposefully changing the direction his one-man conversation was going. 

"Dumbledore is in the dark. He knows nothing of your plans, my lord." 

"Hmmm, very interesting," Voldemort murmured thoughtfully, stroking his bald chin as if he had a beard there. "Isn't this an interesting thing to hear, my Death Eaters?" 

Some of them laughed, and Snape felt his stomach drop. The next moment he knew, he felt Voldemort trying to penetrate his mind. Voldemort probed, but all he found was blankness, interspersed with memories that meant nothing to him. Finally, after several excruciating minutes, Voldemort relented. He stared at Snape for a long time then, trying to glean the smallest hint that was cause for his suspicion. Snape, of course, had come to believe months ago that the Dark Lord had his suspicions where he was concerned, but now those beliefs were confirmed. 

"What are you not telling me, Snape?" Voldemort demanded. 

"I deny you nothing, Master." 

"While I can find nothing to the contrary that you are defying me, neither can I find something which would prove your loyalty to me. You have always tried my patience, Snape, but perhaps you have outlived your worth as a spy for me. Perhaps Dumbledore is not as foolish as I once suspected, and he simply tells you nothing useful anymore. Then again, with my own suspicions about you, why would I tell you anything useful? You are walking a thin line, Snape, a very thin line. You say you serve me, and yet... where is the proof?" Voldemort raised his forehead where his eyebrows should have been. 

"What proof would you have me show, my lord?" 

"You are constantly near Dumbledore and Potter. Bring me the key to their destruction or bring me them, and then you will have proven yourself." 

"Of course, Master." 

Voldemort then smiled evilly. "Well, now that we have that cleared up, it is time you received your punishment. You didn't really think I would allow you to return to the old man unharmed, did you?" 

Snape said nothing, knowing that speaking at that moment could result in the loss of his tongue - literally. "I shall let your brothers have their way with you, for it is not just me that you harm with your foolishness, but them as well, and they certainly are longing to release their anger." 

Voldemort motioned toward his ranks, saying, "Do anything you wish to him, just do not kill him." 

Then, all hell broke loose. Snape had been on the receiving end of curses and hexes and fists and feet many times before, but not to this extent. To describe what happened next would be agonizing and perhaps beyond words. They hexed him with every dark curse in the book, and they kicked him and punched him, twisted him, and bit him. When they had finished with him, he was left a bloody mess on the ground, barely conscious, no part of his body left unmarked with bruises, lacerations, and burn marks. Voldemort called an end to the meeting, the apparent point of it having been only to punish those who he suspected of betrayal. 

When everyone else had disapparated, Snape was left lying on the cold, hard ground, his hair caked in blood, sticking to his face, covered in a grueling mixture of mud and blood. He could barely raise his head, but in terrible pain and with blurred vision, he saw Draco's stonecold body lying a few feet away. He tried in vain to stand, but couldn't even support his weight on his arms as he tried to push himself up. He fell back to the ground, breathing raggedly, knowing his right arm was broken, along with a few ribs. 

Struggling the whole way, Snape used his good arm and that side of his body to initiate moving in the direction where Draco's body lay. Crawling on his belly, reduced to travelling like a snake, Snape finally made his way to Draco's corpse. The very least he could do would be to take the body back with him. He knew he would have to explain everything to Dumbledore, how he had just stood by and watched as Voldemort killed Draco mercilessly and then was beaten to near death himself. 

Gripping around Draco's torso with his left arm, Snape closed his eyes, feeling extreme nausea coursing through him, knowing he could pass out at any second. Not even sure if he had enough energy left in him to apparate properly, he concentrated fully on doing so, and when he opened his eyes again, he was lying on the grounds just outside Hogwarts, near the Forbidden Forest. With Draco's corpse clutched as tightly as he could in his arm, he tried dragging the body across the muddied grounds. The dead weight combined with his own practically dead weight made this impossible. 

"Damn you, boy," Snape murmured in pain, pathetically hitting the corpse in the chest. "Damn you, damn you, damn you." He choked out the words half-heartedly, much more in anger at himself than Draco. In between ragged breaths and coughing up blood, those words felt like more punches or hexes to his being, but they penetrated far deeper, leaving bruises whose scars Snape knew would never heal. 

Too tired to cry, in a dry sob, he whispered, "I've failed you. I'm sorry... so sorry." 

Apologizing to Draco repeatedly, hoping his soul would hear it, Snape left the body and began slumping across the grounds alone. He made it only as far as Hagrid's hut when he closed his eyes and passed out, releasing into the cold, night air a desperate cry for help. 

Back where Draco's body had lain moments before, something very strange and unexpected happened. Out of thin air, something translucent began to materialize and take on form and structure. His skin and hair were paler than they had been in life, but looking at his ghostly hands, Draco began laughing hysterically, his head rolling back, his eyes on the sky. 


	46. Chapter FortySix

Chapter Forty-Six

Hagrid had just finished putting all his magical creatures to bed, tucking them in all nicely and everything, when he was settling into his favorite chair by the fire to nurse a cup of tea, Fang by his side, when he thought he heard something - or more likely someone - outside. 

"Did yeh hear tha'?" he asked Fang, whose ears had perked up just seconds ago at the noise. 

Fang released a low whimper. 

"Ah, yer a scaredy-dog, tha's wha' yeh are," he mumbled to Fang. Standing up and grabbing his umbrella-disguised wand, Hagrid made for the door. "I'll go check it ou'... wha'ever it is." 

Hagrid pushed open his door and stepped out into the darkness. Off in the distance, he could see the lights of the castle, but his eyes were busy scanning nearby for the source of whatever - or whoever - had made that noise. 

Taking a few more steps, Hagrid asked loudly, "Who's ou' there? Show yerself!" 

Nothing. 

Hagrid now muttered _Lumos_ and used the light of his wand to guide him. As he walked along, he kept his eyes mostly on the forest, thinking that to be the most logical place to look. When he didn't see anything, he was just about to turn back when his boot suddenly rubbed against something on the ground. 

"Wha' the- ?" Leaning down on his massive knees, Hagrid lowered his wand to get a better glimpse at what was lying at his feet. When his eyes came upon the face of the person, he gasped, his eyes growing huge in size, and exclaimed, panicked, "Oh, bloody hell! Professor... Professor Snape, wake up! Can yeh hear me?" He gently shook Snape's unconscious body, but he didn't wake up. Hagrid noticed how cold to the touch he felt and could easily see that the poor man had been beaten within inches of his life. 

Hagrid fumbled, trying to find a pulse. Thankfully, it was there, albeit it weak. Knowing what he had to do, Hagrid lifted Snape up very easily and began carrying the bloodied professor to the castle. The whole way, Hagrid murmured, "Don' worry, sir. I'll get yeh ter Madam Pomfrey. She'll know wha' ter go with yeh. Yeh'll be fine 'gain in no time." 

Hagrid finally entered Hogwarts through the main doors, glad for the late hour, meaning that no one would be in the halls to be asking questions or giving strange looks. The half-giant was in quite a hurry as he made his way through the corridors and up the stairs to the infirmary, but the moment he entered the infirmary, he began calling for Madam Pomfrey. 

"Madam Pomfrey!" he bellowed, his voice strained and worried. "Get ou' here! There's an emergency!" 

Madam Pomfrey, dressed in her nightgown, came through a door off the infirmary, which Hagrid knew led to her private quarters. She always had to be nearby in case of an emergency like this one. The moment she laid eyes on Snape's battered body, she gasped, but then said sternly, trying to stay calm, "Put him down on this bed right here. There, there... gently, now." 

While she fussed over Hagrid's ability to be gentle, which was really quite silly, for he was gentler than most people, Hagrid gingerly laid Snape's body on the white-linen covered bed. He stepped back, unable to keep the tears from welling up in his eyes. "Is he gonna be okay?" he asked. 

"I've dealt with Severus many times before," Pomfrey insisted, although, in her heart, she knew that he had never returned from a meeting in this horrible of a condition before. "I need to tend to him. Hagrid, go to the fireplace and notify Albus immediately." 

Hagrid sniffed and nodded, going to the fireplace like an obedient child, and threw a large handful of Floo powder into the grate, calling, "Dumbledore's quarters!" 

Dumbledore had been just settling in for the night, thinking that the hour had grown too late for Snape to be reporting to him that night. He could tell by the tone of Hagrid's voice that something was terribly wrong. "Yes, Hagrid?" he inquired, keeping his voice passive. "What is it?" 

"It's Professor Snape, sir. He's been... hurt. Bad." 

Dumbledore felt his stomach flop, but he remained visibly calm. "I'm coming." He stepped through and appeared in the infirmary. 

Dumbledore immediately was standing near Snape's side, watching Madam Pomfrey as she worked on stabilizing his condition. After she placed a statis spell on him, she began to first remove his clothes to see where all the wounds were located and then began cleaning the wounds on his skin. The smaller ones were practically repaired and vanished within a matter of a few seconds, but there were deeper cuts and severe bruises and burnt markings that required more attention. Both Dumbledore and Hagrid kept silent while she worked, knowing that the mediwitch would need full concentration during the process. 

"He's mostly mended up," she finally announced, "with the exception of a few broken ribs and arm. He'll need to drink down a glass of Skele-Gro, which I'm sure he won't like." 

"When will he wake up, Poppy?" Dumbledore asked. 

"I'll be a while. I'll have to give him the potion while he's still asleep, as well as a sleeping draught. He needs the rest now more than anything. He needs to stay in this bed for the rest of the week." 

Dumbledore smiled weakly, shaking his head. "Oh, I'm sure he won't like that. I can cover his classes for him." 

Pomfrey chuckled sadly, shaking her head as well. "Oh, Severus... what have they done to you now?" A lone tear ran down her cheek. 

Dumbledore gently patted her on her back. "There, there, Poppy. He'll pull through yet, just you wait. He's a stubborn enough man, after all." Dumbledore's attempt at trying to lighten the mood was effective enough to cause her to laugh a little. She straighened herself up and worked on finishing up with Snape, and Dumbledore left her to do what she needed as he spoke with Hagrid. 

"Thank you for bringing him in, Hagrid," he said sincerely. "How did you find him, anyway?" 

"I was in me house when I thought I heard somethin', so I went outside to invest'gate and stumpled upon him. He was just lyin' there, very cold and lifeless. Was- was there a meetin' tonight, Professor?" 

"Yes," Dumbledore nodded solemnly. "Yes, there was. Now that I think of it, Mr. Malfoy hasn't shown up. Strange." 

"Maybe he went ter bed?" Hagrid suggested, shrugging. 

"Perhaps," Dumbledore replied, not convinced. "I think I will check the castle. Perhaps you could check the grounds, Hagrid, just in case. I'll also alert the other teachers as to what has happened. Severus will not be waking up anytime too soon to be able to tell us anything." 

"All right, sir," Hagrid replied dutifully, ever ready to help Dumbledore in any way that he could. 

Hagrid left the infirmary, leaving Dumbledore turning back toward Pomfrey as she finished up the last of the spells she needed to perform on Snape's sleeping form. "Thank you, Poppy," he said earnestly. "I really don't know what we would do without you." He gave her a small smile. 

Madam Pomfrey just returned the smile, but her heart wasn't in it. Over the years, she had seen Snape in bad conditions many times, but this time, she wondered why Voldemort simply had not killed the poor man. It seemed like he had intended to do so... or at least torment him almost to the point of death, which was in reality worse. 

"He's a horrible monster," she said aggressively between clenched teeth. "How could he do this to him?" 

Dumbledore came to stand right next to the bed and placed a gnarled, age-spotted hand on Snape's now warm hand. "You know he would harm anyone to get what he wants," Dumbledore murmured, regarding his former-pupil, his colleague, his friend. "Voldemort shows no mercy." 

Madam Pomfrey flinched a bit at the name, but didn't say anything more about the Dark Lord. "I just wish this whole... thing... was over." 

"So do I, Poppy; so do I," Dumbledore agreed softly. "Sometimes, especially at times like this, I fear I won't be able to look into Severus's eyes without feeling the guilt of what I have placed upon him." 

"But he choose-" Pomfrey started to say. 

"Yes, yes, I know," Dumbledore affably interrupted, "but that does not change how I feel. That was many years ago when he first came to me and turned himself over to my devices, and there has been a change in him over those years. To many, it would appear he has grown colder and put up a harder, thicker wall to the world, but no, Poppy... I do not believe that for a moment. This man," he gestured toward Snape's strangely serene face, "has been to hell and back, and he's been broken time and time again, but he never lets himself break completely. He would hate me for saying it, but his courage and loyalty certainly rivals that of most Gryffindors I have known." 

Pomfrey released a single laugh at Dumbledore's remark, saying, "If only he could hear you now..." 

"I would rather he yell at me for comparing him to a Gryffindor than be left lying here helplessly like this," Dumbledore murmured, frowning, "but enough talk for tonight. You need your rest, and I must check with the other teachers and check the castle regarding Draco Malfoy. Good night, Poppy." 

"Good night, Albus." She lowered the lighting until it was nearly competely dark and left the room. 

Before Dumbledore turned to exit, he delicately squeezed the younger man's hand and whispered, "Good night, son." 

Dumbledore checked the Slytherin dormitories himself immediately after having notified the other professors about Snape and Draco. Their concerned faces made it clear that they, too, were very worried about both Slytherins. Despite whatever the general consensus was of Slytherins among the other houses, the truth was that no one, despite their background, deserved to be treated so vilely by Voldemort, Death Eater or not. 

When Dumbledore had no luck finding Draco, he met up with the other teachers back in his office. It was three in the morning. Then, Hagrid came bursting into the office, and in his arms... 

"I found him lyin' near the forest," he said in a choked voice. "He's... dead." 

Professors McGonagall and Sprout gasped. Even though Draco Malfoy had been a thorn in their sides throughout the years, seeing his corpse hanging lifelessly in Hagrid's huge arms was, well, unnerving and heart-wrenching. They simply couldn't believe what their eyes were so plainly seeing. 

"Oh, dear," Dumbledore said, shaking his head. He approached Hagrid, who lowered his arms enough for Dumbledore to look into Draco's still-open eyes. His pale grey eyes stared back, lifeless, seemingly-looking past Dumbledore and everyone in the room. With a steady hand, Dumbledore reached up and amiably closed Draco's eyes. 

"Lay him down here," Dumbledore said, gesturing toward a couch. "I will notify his mother in the morning. She deserves at least a couple more hours of settled sleep before she finds out that her only son is dead." 

With nothing else to say or do, the professors quietly left Dumbledore's office, leaving the old wizard alone with the body. Whenever he lost a student, it hit him hard, even though Dumbledore didn't openly show it in front of others. As the Headmaster, he had to remain visibly strong, but now, he felt like a helpless child, despite his century and a half of life. 

"I'm sorry, my boy," Dumbledore murmured. "You were brave, braver than most would have even given you credit for, including myself. I admit that I underestimated you even a few months ago when you said you would give yourself to the cause of good... I'm just so regretful that it took the loss of your life for this old fool to realize just what you were willing to sacrifice for the side of Light. Rest now, Draco." 

Draco was not at rest, though. He was just the opposite - a very restless ghost. At first, he thought himself losing his mind. At first, he had not realized he was really dead. Then, he had seen his body, but still - was it just a mere dream? 

No. 

Draco had tried to call after Snape as he took his body away, and in frustration, Draco realized that Snape couldn't hear him. He then knew he had a decision to make. Did he move on, or did he choose to stay? 

He choose to stay. 

After laughing in the irony of the whole situation, how Voldemort thought himself rid of Draco Malfoy forever, Draco stopped the insane laughter and gathered his bearings. Being a ghost would certainly take its getting used to. He floated through the air, not feeling the coldness or the wind. Very strange. 

He knew where he had to go. Hogwarts. He supposed he could still apparate... or disappear and reappear elsewhere as a ghost would. And so he did. 

When he found himself in the halls of the castle, though, Draco fondly realized that the wards didn't prevent ghosts from appearing in the castle. 

_How very convenient,_ he thought. His first inclination was to give Potter a good scare, but then, Draco realized that Snape had nearly died that night. A trip to the infirmary would be in order. 

Floating through walls and ceilings and floors, Draco made his way to the infirmary much quicker than he would have had he been alive. Upon his arrival, he saw Snape lying in a bed, apparently asleep. He looked stable and like he had gotten the proper care he would have so desperately needed. 

Draco perched himself on the footboard, intently studying his professor. He wondered if he would still have to attend class. After all, Binns, as a ghost, still taught class. He also wondered if he could still spy... As a ghost spy, the possibilities seemed much better. Voldemort couldn't kill someone already dead, now could he? Draco smirked. 

While Draco quietly watched Snape as he slept, Snape suddenly felt like he was falling. Apparently the sleeping draught was not strong enough, for his sleeping had not been that deep, and it had been plagued with nightmares. Also, Snape's skin crawled at the coldness he could feel radiating from Draco's ghost. With a start, his eyes shot open, and he found himself looking directly into the face of Draco Malfoy. Snape turned just a white as the ghostly Draco and began stuttering incoherent nonsense. 

"But you're- you're- you're supposed to be- How- ?" Snape closed his eyes tightly and opened them again, but Draco was still there. 

"Hello, sir," Draco said benignly. "Feeling better?" 

Snape made a strangled noise. 

"Hush up!" Draco hissed. "Do you want to wake the whole castle? I'm a ghost, all right? See? You can see right through me." 

Snape studied Draco skeptically and found that he could, indeed, see right through him. "But... last time I saw you..." 

"Yes, I know... I was as cold as that monster who did this to me." 

"It's not funny, Draco," Snape scowled. 

"I'm not laughing," Draco replied. "Besides, you're the one who should be concerned. No offense, but you look a right mess, sir." 

"Hmph, thanks a lot," Snape mumbled. Then, the realization of what he had felt earlier when he had been left alone with Draco's body came back to haunt him. "I'm sorry, Draco..." 

"Oh, stop it," Draco sighed. "It's not your fault, Professor. You should be resting, not looking to start arguments with me." 

Snape was too tired to argue further. He reluctantly nodded and closed his eyes. 


	47. Chapter FortySeven

Chapter Forty-Seven

As he said he would, Dumbledore began filling in for Snape and teaching all his Potions classes, much to the dismay of the Potions Master. By the next morning after he had been attacked, Snape already began complaining about being confined to a bed in the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey and Dumbledore both knew what a horrible patient Snape made, but exchanging small, secretive smiles between each other, they went about their business. Dumbledore firmly insisted that Snape remain in the bed for at least a week. 

Also, Dumbledore had literally come face-to-face with Ghost Draco soon thereafter, and he was both surprised and glad to see him. He spoke with Draco at some length as to what happened during that Death Eater meeting, and when Snape was more congisant, he also spoke with him. The Headmaster was not surprised by the details of what he heard, as he had suspected such things all along. 

In the midst of all this, though, Dumbledore had to notify Narcissa Malfoy of her son's death and return the body to his home, where funeral preparations began. Narcissa had seemed detached and unreadable, but Dumbledore knew that the deaths of both her husband and son must have taken quite a toll on her. Despite her background of coming from the Black family, Narcissa was more vain than anything, much too concerned with herself oftentimes to care what happened around her, but no mother could not shed a few tears for her lost son. 

Draco wanted to visit her desperately and tell her that he was still here, in a way, but Dumbledore insisted that she needed time to grieve, and Draco's visiting her too soon would only make things worse. So, Draco slumped through the castle, as all the students knew of his death (of course not the true reason, but supposedly having "died in his sleep," according to Dumbledore). Dumbledore told him that he could still attend his classes if he wanted to, but Draco didn't really see much point, considering he would spend an eternity in the "body" of a seventeen-year-old. 

Now, however, when Dumbledore stepped into the classroom during Harry's first lesson in Potions that week, one could imagine how surprised Harry and the other students were to see their Headmaster begin writing on the board and teaching in a much more relaxed manner than they were accustomed to with Snape. According to Dumbledore, the reason for Snape's absence was due to "an unfortunate accident whilst brewing a potion." 

Harry didn't believe it. 

After class, Harry approached Dumbledore. "Sir," he began, gazing into the old wizard's piercing blue eyes, "what really happened? I mean, to both Malfoy and Snape." 

Dumbledore led Harry into Snape's office and closed the door. How strange it was to be standing in such a dreary place with the Headmaster, when Harry was used to Dumbledore's bright and interestingly cheery office. Waving at a seat for Harry to sit down, Dumbledore took a seat behind Snape's oddly empty desk and gazed intently at Harry. 

Shifting a little in the chair, Dumbledore murmured, "Hmmm, not as comfortable as I am used to, but then again, Severus often complains that my chairs are too comfortable for his taste." 

_How convenient,_ thought Harry sardonically. 

"Anyway," Dumbledore continued, straightening his glasses on his crooked nose, "yes, you are right to be suspicious, Harry. I have been meaning to talk with you about the details, but as you might imagine, I have been quite occupied as of late. A few nights ago, there was a Death Eater meeting, and the results of which were the murder of Draco Malfoy and the severe beating of Professor Snape. Unfortunately, our suspicions that Voldemort has been hiding information from Severus have been confirmed." 

"So..." said Harry slowly, "what do we do now? Couldn't you have called an Order meeting?" 

"Severus would have been in no condition to attend, and like I said, I have had much on my mind and have had my hands full these past several days, Harry. Calling an Order meeting to simply tell more bad news would be nothing new, as that seems to have become the way of our meetings lately. I have informed many of the members individually regarding the latest." He frowned, and Harry couldn't place the look he saw in Dumbledore's eyes. If anything, the aged man seem very far away just then. 

Harry wasn't sure what to say next. He wanted to demand that they begin seeking out Voldemort right then and there, but he had said this before and knew what Dumbledore's response would be. So, sighing, Harry asked, "Do you think I could, erm, visit him?" 

"Of course," Dumbledore said, nodding. "I think he would like that." 

"I don't know about that," Harry said doubtfully. "I imagine he's in a pretty rotten mood." 

Smiling, Dumbledore chuckled, "That's nothing new, my boy; that's nothing new." 

"I'm not hungry." 

"Come, now... You haven't eaten anything yet today. I insist you at least try the food. The house-elves brought it all the way up here and everything." 

"No." 

Madam Pomfrey, her patience hanging by a thread, sighed exasperatedly. "Fine, then starve to death, Severus. You are quite the insufferable patient." 

Snape glowered at the mediwitch's back as she walked away and went into her office. He was the only one in the infirmary and had suffered through several long, boring days already. Whenever he tried to leave the immediate area of the bed, he wasn't able to make it any farther than about three feet away from the foot when Dumbledore's supposedly protective charm would keep him from going any further. He was tired of this. He was tired of having to call for Pomfrey to release the charm long enough for him to go to the bathroom. He was tired of only being allowed certain times during the day when he was free to walk around the infirmary (and not beyond the doors - more charms, of course, to prevent that) and only being allowed to take a bath at the same time every day. Most of all, he was tired of being served his meals in bed like his was some sort of invalid. Being left with his thoughts and a couple of books to occupy his time and supposedly stimulate his weary mind, Snape's mood had grown more and more sour as the time passed. At least several of the staff had visited him, although their visits only served to further irritate the annoyed, impatient man. 

To make matters even worse, Sirius had been visiting Snape on and off every day. 

So, when Harry entered the infirmary, the Potions Master was in an even fouler mood than was usual for him. Choosing to look away from the boy and stare out the window, Snape thought that if he ignored Harry long enough, he would go away. Maybe he was simply imagining things, after all. Being locked up this long against his will was bound to have some effects on him. 

Harry drew closer to the bed, but was prevented from going any closer than three feet within it, as the ward also kept unwanted visitors out. He stared at his feet, sighed, then looked at the rather pathetic state his professor was in. 

Clearing his throat awkwardly, Harry stated, "The Headmaster told me." 

Snape glowered out the window, hoping and hoping that Harry would simply leave. When he didn't hear Harry's retreating footsteps, Snape finally turned his head just enough to see him. The look on his face was horrible. 

"Go away, Potter." 

"I just thought I'd-" Harry started to say. 

"You just thought you would what?" Snape sneered. "Come and see if what the Headmaster told you is really true? Come to see your nasty Potions Master after he's practically been beaten to a bloody pulp?" 

"N-no," Harry stammered, then recovered himself. "I thought I would see how you were doing." 

Snape looked almost back to normal, seeing as most of the wounds had healed nearly completely, thanks to Madam Pomfrey's expertise. The first night had been the most painful, especially with having had to endure the regrowth and repair of several bones. 

"Ah, I see... The same way your dear godfather thought he would see how I was doing?" Snape continued to sneer. The sarcasm was growing thicker with each word uttered from his thin mouth. 

Harry glanced around the room at the paintings. "Oh," he said shortly. "I didn't know." 

"That's surprising," Snape said, as if he didn't believe Harry. "I thought he shared _everything_ with you." 

Harry suppressed the urge to roll his eyes. "No, for your information, sir, Sirius doesn't share everything with me. I actually haven't spoken with him for a couple of days." 

"Well, the point is moot," Snape muttered. "The fact of the matter is that I won't be fine until I'm out of this blasted bed. Dumbledore has insisted that I stay here, much against my wishes." 

"He's only looking out for your best interests," Harry pointed out. 

A bitter laugh came forth from Snape's mouth. "Oh? Is that so? It would have been in the best interest for everyone if I would have been killed that night instead of Draco." His words were harsh and full of self-loathing, and Harry didn't know what to say. 

"That's not true," Harry finally managed. "No one but Voldemort should have died." 

Snape scowled at Harry, whether for his sympathy or for saying Voldemort's name or for both, Harry didn't know, but it didn't matter. Snape sighed and resignedly muttered, "Only you can kill him, Harry." 

"I know," Harry replied softly, his eyes looking at nothing on the other side of the window. He felt far away from the small world of Hogwarts he had known for many years. Something tingled inside him, a longing to find Voldemort and destroy him once and for all. "He's ruined enough lives already," Harry added, barely audible. 

Harry's words could not have been more true. For several long moments, silence lingered in the air. The awkward discomfort of the situation began to grow again, but all that was broken by a sudden voice yelling, "Helloooo!" 

Harry started, quickly recovered himself, then looked up into one of the paintings. In a painting of the infirmary in its olden days, Sirius appeared amidst a group of mediwitches and patients, who didn't look too thrilled to see him. The mediwitches hustled away from him, tending to their patients, and even resorting to pushing the beds on wheels further away from where Sirius was standing. Sirius, however, seemed to take no notice of any of this. 

Harry grinned. "Hello, Sirius." 

"Harry," Sirius beamed, "what a surprise! I didn't expect to find you here, of all places." He gestured toward Snape, who rolled his eyes. 

"If this is going to turn into a little want-to-be family reunion," Snape sneered, "kindly leave me out of it and go elsewhere. I have had more than enough of your annoying presence this week, Black." 

"Oh, aren't you just a ray of sunshine, Snape?" Sirius mocked, winking at Harry. "For once, I would have to say that the tables are turned, my old friend." 

"I am NOT your friend!" Snape bellowed, upsetting the sheets around him as he kicked and flung his arms. 

"I know that," Sirius said calmly, smirking. "I just enjoy saying it because it makes you so angry." 

Harry rolled his eyes. Some things truly never changed. 

Then, Sirius's expression grew grave, and he said, "Truthfully, though, the tables really have turned, Snape. You are now the one being forced by Dumbledore to be kept like an animal in a cage, unable to move about freely at your own will." 

Sirius's words stung more than Snape would have liked them to, but he revolted in turn, not wanting to allow the other man to have the upper hand. "That's a rich thing coming from you, Black! How like to you kick someone while he's down!" 

Harry could tell that what had started as nothing more than a bit of harmless teasing was now mounting into an all-out war, as was prone to happen whenever Snape and Sirius were in the same room together. He bit his lip, clearly uncomfortable with the situation, but he felt something needed to be said. 

"Oh, shut up already!" Harry finally yelled. "The both of you are acting like a couple of kids!" 

At that moment, Madam Pomfrey, disturbed by the noises she heard coming from _her_ infirmary, came bustling into the room. "What's going on?" she demanded. "Stop this at once! My patient needs proper rest, and you two-" She turned to Harry and Sirius. 

Sirius, now realizing that things had gotten out of hand, said to Pomfrey, "I'm sorry, Poppy. I didn't mean for it to get like this. Harry didn't do anything-" 

"I'll be the judge of that," Madam Pomfrey insisted, glaring around the room. 

From his bed, Snape was brick red with anger. Harry feared what might come from his mouth by this point, but when he spoke, Harry was shocked what he heard. "Mr. Potter did nothing, Poppy. It was him," Snape scowled, motioning toward Sirius, "who started it. Granted, I did not enjoy being told to 'shut up' by Mr. Potter, but that is hardly the problem here." 

Pomfrey harrumphed, not seeming totally convinced. "Well, I think it would be for the best for everyone if everyone but Severus went back to- wherever they came from. He needs his sleep," she added, casting a stern glare at Snape. 

Harry nodded and told Sirius that he would see him later. Meanwhile, Madam Pomfrey returned to her office. Sirius didn't say another word, but left the painting, clearly annoyed. Before Harry left, though, he heard Snape's voice call after him. 

"Mr. Potter... Harry." 

Harry turned around and regarded the man solemnly. There was an unreadable expression on his face, but Harry thought his eyes looked sorrowful. 

"I- I just wanted to say th-" The words didn't come easy for him, but Harry kept listening. "Thank you." 

Harry nodded and smiled slightly. "See you later, sir." 

Then he left. Finally relieved to have some peace and quiet, Snape supposed that being alone in the infirmary wasn't as bad as being surrounded by certain annoying individuals. He wasn't pleased that Dumbledore was covering his classes for him, but he honestly couldn't think of anyone better for the job. Plus, a week away from the students had to be akin to the vacation in more ways than one. 

He was still trying to get over what Harry had done. A few months ago, Snape would have never expected such a thing - for the likes of Harry Potter to actually _defend_ him, but many things had changed and were continuing to change. Now, more than ever, he realized how different Harry really was from his father. James Potter would have never stood up for him. No, he would have defended Sirius Black no matter what. It was a sign that Harry was grown up. 

For the first time in days, Snape smiled, but only to himself, for no one to see it. 


	48. Chapter FortyEight

Chapter Forty-Eight

Weeks began to fly by. In that time, Snape healed and went back to teaching classes, and Draco returned to Malfoy Manor for several days to visit his mother. Narcissa Malfoy was shocked beyond words upon her first glimpse of her lost son, but then the tears flowed freely. If Draco could have embraced her, he would have. In the meantime, life at Hogwarts continued on as it always had. 

November ended, and December began. By this time, the students were growing excited for the Christmas holiday. This year, Harry would be spending Christmas at the Burrow. Grimmauld Place was no longer safe, but especially because Mr. Weasley worked for the Ministry, the Burrow was protected better than most places. When even the safety of Hogwarts was in question, its purpose of being a safehaven was not very impressive. 

So, with their bags packed, several of the students boarded the Hogwarts Express and returned home for the holidays. Being back at the Burrow was a big comfort to Harry and his friends, and he couldn't think of a better place to be or with better people to spend the holiday with. He even had brought Sirius along. 

The few days that remained before Christmas passed quickly, full of laughter and excitement, especially with the Weasley twins showing off their latest gimmicks and games. A few members of the Order stopped in from time to time to say hello or share a delicious meal with the Weasleys, Harry, and Hermione. Now, though, Christmas Day itself was dawning. 

The first rays of the morning sunlight reflected off the blanket of freshly fallen snow, illuminating the ground and sky with their combined beauty. To the west, a few stray stars remained in the sky, slowing, steadily, seemingly blinking out of existence as the sun rose higher. The streets were empty of vehicles, just as the sidewalks were devoid of people, adding to the calm of the early day. Although bare for a couple of months, the trees displayed their glory in a way that cannot be described properly with mere words, for the whiteness of the snow resting upon their many dark branches was so beautiful, especially on Christmas morning, that is was as if the heavens had sugar-coated the world when it had smiled down upon the earth with snow. 

Such simply beauty is seldom acknowledged for what it is, oftentimes overlooked by passersby, who seem far too occupied in going about with their daily routines, duties calling, demanding to be fulfilled. Such a dire shame and utter loss it is for those whose hearts and minds are ignorant to natural beauty, which transcends the physical world, penetrating the insides, filling those who truly see beyond what the eyes can, with peace. 

A sigh emitted from his mouth, fogging the frosty window. Even though he was watching the world outside as if it had stopped, his heart and mind were not at ease, for he would not allow himself to be so. The house was quiet, but the silent solitude would not endure much longer. 

Harry looked away from the window, now focusing on his best friend's sleeping form in the rumpled bed across the room. Soft snores came from that corner, which brought a small smile to Harry's young face. Here he was, surrounded by everyone who had become an important part of his life, but yet, something felt out of place. 

Turning his attention back to the window, Harry did not hear Ginny as she entered the room and padded across the dusty floorboards. 

"Happy Christmas, Harry," came her gentle voice. "What are you doing?" 

Still gazing out the window, a small, sad smile formed across Harry's face. "Happy Christmas, Ginny," he murmured. 

When he did not say anything further, Ginny gingerly took a seat beside him on the window's wide ledge. She, too, looked out the window. After a few moments of silence had passed, Ginny's curiosity, or perhaps it was more concern, overwhelmed her, and she asked, "What are you looking at, Harry?" 

"I... I don't know," he replied quietly. "Er, nothing, I guess." 

For Harry, the more suitable question was "What are you looking for?" Without saying anything, Ginny's hand entwined with Harry's, and she gently squeezed his cold hand with her warm one. 

"You're so cold," she remarked. "Harry, please, come away from the window." 

"I'm fine," Harry insisted. 

Ginny regarded him skepically and said in a voice very akin to her mother's, "Now, you listen to me, Harry. I won't be hearing any of that. What's the matter?" 

Finally, Harry removed his eyes from the window and faced Ginny. In his green eyes was such a desperation that Ginny felt scared for a moment. She knew Harry was an intense person, but what she saw in his eyes at that moment in time was more than she had been expecting. 

"What do you suppose he's doing right this very instant?" Harry asked. 

"Who?" Ginny asked, truly vexed, her brow creased. 

"Voldemort." 

"Oh," she hesitated, shuddering at the name. "Oh... well... I don't honestly know, Harry." 

"Do you think he's ruining another family as we speak, killing more innocent people, tormenting their children or parents? Do you think he's getting pleasure out of it? I do, Ginny; I do." 

Harry was entirely serious, and his face seemed set in stone, immovable. 

"Harry-" 

"No, Ginny. Don't bother. I learned a long time ago what loss feels like, and as the time draws nearer to that day when all the world will expect me to defeat him, I can't help but to think about all the lives he's ruined. At Christmas time, when people are supposed to be thankful for loved ones and happy in their company, how can they just forget the losses they've suffered as well? They can't, Ginny." 

"You're absolutely right, Harry," Ginny sighed heavily, "but don't you go forgetting everything you've gained, too. In a few minutes, we'll both be downstairs, surrounded by everyone we love and who love us. We're all together." 

"Yes, I know," Harry whispered softly. "Sometimes, I guess I just get to thinking, you know, about all the years I had to spend with my relatives while growing up, never knowing my parents, and then I finally find out the truth, but that doesn't make the loss any less. If anything, it's grown over the years. Growing up is just so strange, Ginny." 

He laughed mirthlessly, and when Ginny said nothing, Harry continued, "I used to think when I was a kid that I'd have everything in my life figured out when I was an adult, and now, here I am... nearly an adult, but I feel like I have more questions than I ever did." 

"I know what you mean," confessed Ginny. "But there's one question you should know the answer to." 

Harry watched as a sneaky smile appeared on her face, and he ventured, "Oh? And what's that?" 

Bringing her lips to his, Ginny kissed him longingly and deeply. Almost instantly, they each had their arms around each other, and when the kiss ended, they were still locked in an embrace. 

"You are loved," Ginny simply said. 

Harry smiled as Ginny rested her head on his chest, and together, they gazed out the window, enjoying each other's company and the amazing view in front of them. Perhaps, if only for a little while, the world truly had stopped that morning. 

After a few moments of being seemingly lost to the physical world, Harry withdrew his gaze from the wonderful scene outside the window and turned to face Ginny again. He took her hands gently in his own and squeezed them. "Thank you, Ginny." 

"What for?" she asked softly. 

"For just being here." 

With those words, Harry placed a kiss on her cheek and then proceeded to kiss her on the lips. As the kiss deepened and lengthened, Ron was suddenly awoken by the sound coming from across the room. Rubbing at his eyes, his vision slowly unblurred, but his head still felt groggy. At first, he thought he was having some sort of weird dream. 

_Why would I be dreaming about Harry snogging my little sister senseless?_ he wondered, but then, the reality of the situation struck him. 

"Harry!" he exclaimed, stumbling out of bed, dragging the bed covers - quilt, blankets, sheets, and all - with him, and then unceremoniously toppling onto the floor in a big heap and with a loud crash. Harry and Ginny simultaneously unlocked lips and literally jumped, facing where Ron now lay on the wooden floor with a pile of bed coverings. 

Ginny giggled at the combination of the look on his face and the sheer hilarity of his position on the floor as he pathetically and vainly struggled to remove himself from the pile of linens. 

"Be careful, Ron," Ginny mock-warned. "I've heard that over-large piles of blankets have been known to be unnaturally aggressive and swallow their victims whole." 

Harry stifled a laugh. Groaning, Ron finally managed to pull himself out of the tangled mess and stood to his full height. "Ha, ha, very funny," he said dryly. "Maybe if the first thing I saw when I opened my eyes hadn't been my best friend lip wrestling with my little sister, none of this would have ever happened." He gestured toward the mess on the floor. 

Ginny rolled her eyes and playfully chucked a pillow at him. "I'm not 'little' anymore, Ronald, and I'm plenty old enough to - How did you phrase it? - ah, yes, lip wrestle." She smirked. 

With one last groan, a pitiful attempt to regain his sanity, Ron proceeded to pick up the bed covers and place them sloppily on the bed. "C'mon, you two. I can smell breakfast cooking." Ron headed for the door. 

Casting Harry a quizzical glance, Ginny reached for his arm and led him toward the door. "Just what you needed, Harry," she reckoned as they walked along. "A good laugh." 

"Yeah," Harry agreed. "The look on his face was priceless. Oh, wait!" he suddenly exclaimed. Going back to his bed, he located his bag and removed Sirius's portrait from it. Sirius was asleep. 

"We can't forget Sirius," Harry remarked. 

With one last giggle, Ginny led Harry down the stairs and into the kitchen, where most of the Weasley family was gathered around the table, plus Hermione. Both Bill and Charlie had managed to make it home for the holidays, but Percy, being wrapped up in the Ministry and insistent in living his own life, was not present. 

"Tuck in, tuck in!" Mrs. Weasley exclaimed merrily as Harry and Ginny joined them. "We were waiting for you." 

"Sorry, Mum," Ginny murmured, sitting down at the end of the table. Harry slipped in next to her, across from Ron and Hermione. 

"Happy Christmas, Harry," Hermione said in way of greeting. "You look, er-" 

"Like I just rolled outta bed?" asked Harry wryly. 

"Yeah, pretty much," Hermione laughed. 

"Happy Christmas to you, too," Harry replied. Looking around the table, Harry noticed that everyone was still wearing their nightclothes, but the women had brushed their hair, and none of the men had. Harry could only imagine how disheveled his hair must have looked that moment, in comparison to the Weasleys' hair. 

Breakfast went over splendidly, and then the time came to open presents. He received yet another Weasley jumper from Mrs. Weasley, along with several other goodies. He opened presents from Lupin and Sirius, Hagrid, and a few other friends. From Ron, Harry got enough candy to thoroughly rot his teeth and give him an ulcer the size of his entire stomach. From Hermione, Harry received a couple of books about becoming an Auror and one with interesting stories about some of the most exciting adventures from some of the wizarding world's most famed Aurors. 

"Mad-Eye Moody is in there," Hermione said knowingly. "Plus, I thought you could get an early start on preparing for become an Auror." 

"Harry doesn't even graduate for another six months," Ron said. 

"I know that," Hermione replied pointedly. "I just thought it would be helpful." 

"Well, at least Harry knows what he wants to do after school," Ron countered. 

"Oh? And what's that supposed to mean?" questioned Hermione heatedly. "Do _you_ have any idea what you want to do, Ron?" 

Everyone else had stopped talking and had their full attention on Ron and Hermione as they argued. 

"Well, no," Ron stuttered, "but am I supposed to? I mean, you're the one-" 

"Who's supposed to have it all figured out?" asked Hermione. "We've been through this before, Ron." 

"Exactly, and I don't hear you telling us what you wanna be after Hogwarts," Ron challenged, his blue eyes regarding Hermione shrewdly. 

With a huff, Hermione scoffed, "For your information, I was thinking of being a mediwitch." 

Ron scrunched his brow and hesitated, "But- but you said you didn't know. You just made that up just now. You had to have-" 

"No, I didn't," Hermione insisted, glaring down at Ron as she made to stand. "Now that you've made a right ass out of yourself and me in front of your whole family, I'll leave you to pick up the mess you've created." With those harsh words, Hermione stomped out of the room and up the stairs. 

"Uh, does anyone mind telling me what that was about?" Sirius asked. 

Most everybody was at a loss for words, but Mrs. Weasley was lecturing Ron about how to properly treat a young lady, and the twins were teasing him about his lack of finesse when dealing with the opposite sex. To make matters worse, Mrs. Weasley proceeded to make Ron feel about an inch tall by reminding him that she expected him to earn at least five N.E.W.T.s and choose a worthy career - here, glaring at Fred and George for their lack of choosing what she believed to be a worthwhile career. 

Ginny and Harry removed themselves to a little room off the main living area. In the quietude, they discussed what they had just witnessed, neither of them realizing how serious the issue had been between Ron and Hermione. Finally, Ginny said, "Well, enough talking about them. Here's a little something for you, Harry." She pulled a small box out of her pocket. 

Harry fidgeted in his pocket for her present and awkwardly handed it to her. "You go first," he said. 

"All right." Ginny's small fingers worked along the seal, finally ripping the paper away from the box. Gingerly lifting the cover, Ginny released a tiny gasp when her eyes came to rest upon its contents. Setting the box down on the floor in front of her, she carefully lifted the necklace out of the box. Its pendant was a dazzling ruby, encased in solid gold, hung from a golden chain. 

"Harry-" she said is hushed tones. "It's- beautiful, but it's... it's too much." 

Harry could hear the shakiness in her voice and watched as her hands fumbled. Gently taking the necklace out of her nervous hands, Harry slipped the necklace over her head and regarded the result. The red ruby shimmered with the red of her hair. 

"It reminded me of you," he explained simply and sincerely. 

A couple of tears rolled down her cheeks, and Ginny flung her arms around Harry's torso, hugging him closely. "Thank you, thank you so very much, Harry." 

Harry hugged her back, kissed the top of her head, and slowly released her. "You're welcome." He wasn't sure what else to say, as words didn't seem adequate in moments like these. 

Wiping the tears away, Ginny said, "Now it's your turn. Open yours." 

Harry tore the paper off the box in a much less delicate manner than Ginny had and opened the box. He lifted out a tiny Golden Snitch. 

"Wow," he murmured, his green eyes locked on the ball in awe. "Ginny, you didn't have to-" 

"Yes, I did," she insisted. "I wanted to give you something special, and, well... I thought of how much Quidditch means to you - how it's like your chance to be free and forget all your troubles, if only for a little while." 

Harry listened, knowing that Ginny was absolutely right. "Thank you, Ginny. I couldn't have asked for a better Christmas." 

"Neither could I." 


	49. Chapter FortyNine

Chapter Forty-Nine

The picturesque wintry scene of the Scottish mountains enveloping the impressive castle could have been a painting, it was that breathtaking, but had it been a mere picture, there would not have been any inhabitants within the castle. As the snow fell gracefully that Christmas morning outside, covering the mountain peaks and castle spires alike, fires burned within Hogwarts castle, providing the few remaining people who stayed over the holiday with warmth. 

In spite of any amount of horror brought forth by the evils of the world, whether Muggle or wizard, Christmastime always brought a kind of magic that no wizard or witch could produce with the simple flick or swish of a wand. As per usual, Dumbledore had ordered the castle decorated to a flourish, and many of the students had headed home to spend Christmas with their families. 

From within his office, Lupin glanced around at the stark emptiness. He had packed what he needed and was looking forward to returning to his home for the week between Christmas and New Year's. Before he headed home, though, he would be making a very special stop - at Tonks's place - and would be spending what promised to be a lovely Christmas Day with her. 

Smiling sadly at the vacant spot on the wall where Sirius's picture usually hung, Lupin murmured softly, "It would have been nice to spend this Christmas with you, old friend, but Harry's needs are greater than mine. Last Christmas was so lonely without you, and I'll never forget how sad Harry was that year..." 

With a weak smile, Lupin shook his head for talking to himself. Turning away from the wall, he went to the door, locked it, and began his trek down the hall to the main entrance. Not too far along his way, he saw Snape passing in the opposite direction, apparently headed - he didn't know where. 

"Severus," Lupin suddenly said and stopped walking. 

Snape had been looking at the floor, which was odd, and he seemed more distant than was usual, even for him. Ever since that horrible encounter with Voldemort that month before, Lupin had noticed a change in Snape. Snape didn't say anything to prove the point, but it was in the little things that people like Lupin and Dumbledore noticed that change. Snape seemed quieter and more withdrawn - even more so than they had ever witnessed with him, and that was saying something. 

Snape seemed visibly shaken for a moment when he heard his name called out. Gazing up from the ground, his black eyes met Lupin's for a split second, but then he promptly avoided Lupin's gaze. 

"What is it, Lupin?" he muttered. 

"I was just headed out," Lupin stated awkwardly, "and, well, I won't be back for a week. Since I saw you, I thought I would say goodbye and happy Christmas and all that." 

"Indeed," came the sneering voice. "How thoughtful of you." 

Lupin wondered if he should dare probe further, so he tried to choose his next words carefully. "Severus- are... are you all right?" 

"Why does everyone keep asking me that?" Snape barked. "Would you be all right if you were in my position?" 

"Well, I-" 

"I don't need your sympathy or anyone's. Good day to you, Lupin," Snape said in way of dismissal, and he stalked off. 

Lupin stood in the hall for a moment, wondering if he should pursue the matter (or the man) further, but he thought it would be a fruitless endeavor. Going to the Headmaster would be simply reiterating things Dumbledore already knew, and besides, Lupin was looking forward to what he felt was a well-deserved visit with Tonks. He didn't need Severus Snape and his bitter attitude bringing him down into the Valley of Depression. Exhaling and with a single shrug, Lupin resumed his pace and soon enough was on his way. 

Meanwhile, Snape had returned to his chamber. The usual holiday feast was nearing, and he knew that if he didn't attend, Dumbledore's head would be appearing in the grate at any moment now, asking why he wasn't present. Festering in his figurative black bile, Snape had the armchair purposefully turned away from the fireplace. Reaching for the decanter of whiskey, Snape poured himself another glass and downed it. If he was going to be miserable, he could at least be miserable and intoxicated. 

_A worthless, bloody wreck of a bloke I am,_ he thought brokenly. _The bane of both the Dark Lord's and Dumbledore's existences... some pathetic shadow of a man who spends his life walking through murky marshes of grey... I should have let them kill me... or I should have offered to do so myself and save them the trouble._

Feeling like he was drowning himself in a lake of desolation at the end of his rope, Snape was suddenly brought out of his middle-of-the-day nightmares by the sound of Dumbledore's beckoning voice. 

"Severus," he called gently. When Snape refused to answer, Dumbledore called again, but then, Snape felt a hand on his shoulder. He flinched and tried to pull away, but Dumbledore's grip was amazingly firm for his age. 

"I'm not going to dinner," Snape spat, not even looking at Dumbledore, "so don't even bother to ask." 

"The feast is still an hour away," Dumbledore said plainly. "I came to speak with you. Severus, for heaven's sake, at least look at me." 

"How can I look at you when I have failed you, Albus?" 

"Failed me?" Dumbledore was astonished. "No, no, no, my boy," he continued in a fatherly voice. "To the contrary, you-" 

"Don't you say it!" Snape barked, glaring at the old man. "Don't you say that I'm worthwhile, that you see something worth saving in me! I've heard it before from you - for years, Albus, and damn it, I'm tired of hearing it! I'm tired of... of everything! I just want it all to end!" 

"What are you implying, my boy?" Dumbledore asked, clearly worried. "You sound like a man who doesn't want to live anymore." 

"Bravo, Headmaster," Snape slurred sarcastically, the alcohol clearly taking effect. 

Shaking the younger man, Dumbledore insisted, "You are not in your right state of mind. You've been drinking, and you have locked yourself up in these dark, cold dungeons more this past month than you have ever. You are digging your own grave - prematurely - Severus. Please, don't do this to yourself." 

"It doesn't matter," Snape muttered, gazing down at his feet. 

"Correct me if I'm wrong, but what happened to you? You seemed to be fairing well, all things considered, not too long after that incident last month. If you think back on this past year, think of where you were a year ago compared to today - or at least not that long ago, before you began making yourself miserable." At the end of these words, Dumbledore cast a sobering spell on Snape. 

Snape thought, feeling his head clearing of the alcohol-induced blur that had previously inhabited. He remembered how he had finally felt some true recognition from others in his daily life who he never thought would do so. Harry Potter stood in the forefront of those individuals. He recalled the grudging respect the boy had earned for him, how he no longer thought of Harry as being just like his father. He knew he had in some way or another saved the boy and his friends on several occasions these past few years. He remembered feeling at a loss for words as the whole room full of people applauded him for finding a cure to Lupin's Lycanthropy, how even Sirius had thanked him. He remembered how many of the staff had visited him in the hospital bed recently, even hearing how Hagrid had shed tears _for him_. And finally, he thought of the one person who, through thick and thin, through all these years, had taken him under his wing and treated him better than he deserved and had given him a second chance at life. That person was standing right in front of him at this very moment, and he never felt more like curling into a ball like a frightened animal and hiding under a rock. 

"I'm a fool," Snape whispered. 

"Perhaps," Dumbledore chuckled gently, "but a mistaken fool and only of your own accord. You are your own worst judge, Severus; you know that." 

"I don't deserve your kindness," Snape insisted. "Why? Why do you persist, you old codger?" 

"Because, my boy," Dumbledore said with a twinkle in his eye, squeezing Snape's shoulder, "I stand by what I have always said: that you are worthwhile." 

Snape resisted sneering at the predictable comment, but thought better of it. He groaned instead, which caused Dumbledore to laugh. "Come now, let's go to the Great Hall. What you need is some good company and some good food." 

Although some of the staff were more annoying than what he considered good company, Snape knew the food would be good, so he followed Dumbledore out of the darkness and into the light. 

Lupin appeared outside Tonks's door. His suitcase was shrunken to a size small enough to stow in his tattered coat pocket, so he walked toward the door without anything holding him back, including his own shyness. He had gotten over that awkward phase with Tonks, and the more time he spent with her, the more he felt like he had always known her. True, they had been friends for a couple of years already, but if he would have gone back in time and told his younger self that he would be dating this lovely young lady, his younger self would not have believed it. 

Standing there in the snow, Lupin could still remember that first time he had met Tonks. It had been about two and a half years ago, the summer between Harry's fourth and fifth years at Hogwarts, and he had been at Grimmauld Place. When she walked in the door for the first official Order of the Phoenix meeting, Sirius had introduced her as his cousin, explaining that she was one of the youngest Aurors for the Ministry. When Lupin saw her, he thought she was beautiful, but he never had worked up the nerve to tell her so - until now. 

He knocked twice on the door, and it was only a matter of a couple of seconds before the door swung open, revealing a very excited Tonks. 

"Remus!" she exclaimed delightedly. "I was waiting for you!" 

Before he could even respond, she was hugging him tightly, and Lupin felt a smile beaming on his face as he hugged her back. "It's good to be here," he murmured contentedly into her ear. "I'm sorry for not arriving sooner." 

"It's all right. Now, come inside before you freeze to death out there." 

Lupin followed Tonks into the quaint cottage and glanced around at its cozy interior. "You have a nice place," he observed. 

"It's not much, but it's home," Tonks said with a shrug. "Besides, it's not as if this is the first time you've seen it." 

"Yeah, I know, but it's still nice." 

There was a pause, and Tonks decided she would have to make the next move. 

"Well, can I take your coat and offer you a seat and something to drink, or do you plan on standing there all day?" she teased. 

"Oh, of course... sorry," Lupin replied with a grin, realizing he had been gawking while standing in one place near the door. Removing his shabby overcoat, he handed it to Tonks, who gave a look of disapproval at the garment's condition, wondering why he hadn't replaced it. Surely he made enough money now to do so. He then removed his boots and stepped further into the living area, taking a seat at the table. 

Tonks was busying herself by the stove, removing what appeared to be a pot of tea and a tray of biscuits. She proceeded to pour a cup for each of them and placed the two cups and the tray of biscuits on the table. 

Sitting down, she pointed out, "I'm not much of a cook, but I thought a little bit of holiday baking couldn't hurt. As long as you can bite into one of them fine, I'll know they are at least edible." She motioned toward the plate. 

Taking this as a cue that he was supposed to test the biscuits, Lupin reached for one and took a bite. It tasted sweet, but not overly so, and the consistency seemed just right. 

"Perfect," he said in between bites. 

"Well, have another one, then," Tonks urged, gazing up and down his body. "Merlin knows you need it. You're still so thin, Remus." 

"I know," he sighed. "Even though I haven't undergone a transformation in several months, I still feel the wear and tear all those years of transforming have placed on my body. Maybe I'm just getting old..." He thought of how prematurely grey his hair was and the lines under his eyes. 

"Nonsense," Tonks argued gently, reaching for his hand. "You're not old." 

"I'm pushing forty, Nymphadora. I'll be thirty-nine in March." He smiled slightly. 

"Hardly old. Look how old Dumbledore is!" she exclaimed. "You have many, many years left." 

"I hope so," Lupin murmured, thinking about the imminent war. 

Tonks picked up on this and squeezed his hand tenderly. "Hey," she said softly, "don't think like that." Tonks thought about the recent deaths of her own parents, but she knew that she had to be positive if she was to mentally survive this whole war. 

"Anything's possible," Lupin pointed out matter-of-factly. "I can't kid myself, especially when my physical strength is not what it used to be. I nearly died six months ago. Had it not been for Severus's potion..." 

"But you didn't die, Remus. You didn't. If there's anything worth knowing that anyone taught me, it was to never give up and to keep fighting. You taught me that, Remus." 

A confused look crossed his face. "I did? But I don't remember saying-" 

"You didn't have to say the exact words. You were there for me at a time when I thought I would feel so very alone, and you gave me the reassurance I needed." 

_I did that?_ Lupin wasn't sure what to say, but gazing into her eyes, he knew she meant every word. Then, without realizing what he was doing, Lupin found himself leaning toward her, closing the small distance between them. His eyes were half-closed, half-open, and he felt like his mind had gone somewhere else entirely. He could feel his heart beating fervently in his chest and all over his whole body, and she was leaning toward him, her eyes in the midst of closing completely, her lips swollen and reaching out to his, surrendering herself to him, and he to her. In an instant, their lips touched for the first time. 

All thoughts of everything - of aging, of the war, of possible death, of loss, of anything bad - disappeared, and they melted into a world that was all their own. Eyes closed, they were someplace far off and away, and they never wanted to come down from that emotionally-driven feeling of flying high over the earth. Finally, though, the need to breathe deeply prevailed, and they released the kiss, but its feeling didn't fade away. 

"Happy Christmas, Remus." 

"Happy Christmas, Nymphadora." 


	50. Chapter Fifty

Chapter Fifty

January arrived, cold and blustery, marking the beginning of the last semester of Harry's schooling. After having spent much of the rest of the holiday at the Burrow, Harry and his friends returned to Hogwarts the day before classes would begin. He had just finished putting his things away after having unpacked when he heard an unexpected voice say his name. 

"Hello, Harry." 

Shocked, Harry turned around to see Albus Dumbledore standing in the doorway of his dormitory. In all his years at Hogwarts, Harry had never once seen Dumbledore enter the Gryffindor quarters. He wondered what brought him here today. 

"Hi, sir," Harry greeted him, sounding perplexed. "Did you need something?" 

Harry knew it was an idiotic question to ask. _Why else would he be here?_

"Yes, Harry, I wondered if you might come with me to my office. There is something I've been meaning to show you." 

The piercing quality of Dumbledore's eyes unnerved Harry, and he felt himself unsteady with apprehension. "Uh, sure..." 

Harry followed Dumbledore out of the room and down the stairs, through the common room, and out the portal into the hallway. Dumbledore was silent at first, but then he ventured casually, "How was your holiday, Harry?" 

Harry knew the Headmaster was trying to make conversation, lighten the awkward silence. "Fine," he murmured. 

"That's good to hear," Dumbledore acquiesced. "How are the Weasleys doing?" 

"All right," Harry replied. 

Dumbledore, realizing that Harry was only going to produce one-word answers, simply nodded and then quietly continued on his way to his office. Upon arriving at the entrance, Dumbledore gave the password to the guardian gargoyle, and the statue sprang to life and jumped aside, revealing the revolving staircase that led to the door to the office. Harry mechanically followed Dumbledore into his office and took a seat when Dumbledore motioned for him to do so. 

Dumbledore was seated at his desk, Harry seated directly facing him. Steepling his fingers, Dumbledore gazed at Harry for a few very long seconds, causing Harry was feel uneasy. He fidgeted in his seat, and then, without preamble, Dumbledore suddenly stood up, walked to one of the many shelves, and withdrew what Harry knew was his Pensieve. Gingerly placing the object on his desk, Harry stared at the rune-lined stone basin, entranced by the swirling silver mist-like substance within. Harry unconsciously stood from his chair and found himself leaning over the Pensieve, gazing curiously down into its contents. He saw what appeared to be a group of darkly-clad figures, which was quickly pursuing another group of people, only the other group was clad in all sorts of colors. 

Finally, Harry glanced up at Dumbledore. "Sir?" he asked. 

"Contained within this Pensieve are many of my memories from the first war, Harry," Dumbledore explained. "After much deliberation and thought, I decided that it would be advantageous for you to see some of them. I feel that the full-force of the second war is nearly upon us, and for you to be best prepared, you should have a good idea of what actually happened during the first war. I could, of course, tell you, which I have done somewhat, but nothing speaks more clearly than actually bearing witness to those events." 

Harry nodded solemnly. He wasn't sure what to say, but he knew that Dumbledore was trying his best to prepare him for the inevitable. Staring down into the Pensieve once more, Harry wondered if he really wanted to actually see some of the horrific events of the first war, but Dumbledore was being completely open and honest with him now. There were no more crytic messages or half-explanations. 

Finally, withdrawing his green eyes from the Pensieve, Harry glanced at Dumbledore. "Is it- ?" he tried to say. "Is it really... was it really as bad as everyone says it was, sir?" 

And the unspoken question: _Will it be just as bad... or worse?_

Dumbledore nodded gravely and sensed Harry's unspoken question. "I will not kid you, Harry. I have kept certain things from you enough over the years, and if there is one thing I have learned, it is that honesty, no matter how blunt or brutal it may be, is always better than fabricated euphemisms. Yes, Harry, I do believe that when this war strikes us full-force, it will be unlike anything I have ever witnessed." 

Harry swallowed slowly, feeling like his insides were about to drop right out of him. _Focus, Harry,_ he told himself firmly. _Now is not the time to lose your head... or you might really, quite literally, lose your head in the future when you face Voldemort._

As Harry gazed upon every wrinkle on Dumbledore's aged face, taking in his white, long beard, Harry thought he saw every one hundred-fifty years of the man's life. Harry knew that Dumbledore had not only faced Voldemort the first time around, but also had faced the dark wizard Grindelwald some fifty years prior, when Voldemort was still Tom Riddle and nothing more than a student. Harry wondered what else Dumbledore had seen in his life, how many other dark wizards he had faced in battle, how many friends he had lost... 

"Then that's pretty bad," Harry whispered, unable to keep the fright out of his voice. No matter how Gryffindor he was or how many times he had already fought Voldemort, Harry would have to have been a fool to not be somewhat afraid in that moment. Dumbledore's words, after all, left absolutely no room for contradiction. 

"Shall we, then, Harry?" Dumbledore asked. 

Harry knew what he meant. With a silent nod, Harry leaned forward over the Pensieve and was suddenly sucked in, Dumbledore following closely behind him. 

Had he not known he was inside one of Dumbledore's memories, Harry would have thought what he was seeing was real. He nearly fell over with shock when he saw his parents. James and Lily Potter were side-by-side, their wands held out courageously in front of them, and on their faces were looks of determination. Harry had never seen his father appear so brave. James did not resemble the pompous teenager he had once been, the one Harry had seen in Snape's memory a couple of years ago. Although his hair was just as unruly as Harry's and he was still quite young, there was an air about him that spoke volumes that he meant business. 

Not too far behind James and Lily were Sirius and Lupin, both appearing youthful and untainted. They were not the Sirius and Lupin he had come to know. Sirius was well-muscled and healthy, his face handsome and carefree, not gaunt by the years of Azkaban. His hair was worn shorter than Harry remembered it. Lupin's hair wasn't greying, and his face wasn't lined with years of having to endure countless transformations. 

Leading what Harry knew had to be the first Order of the Phoenix was Dumbledore himself, but he looked exactly the same as he did now. Glancing down the ranks, Harry saw the faces of those he had seen in the picture Mad-Eye Moody had shown him at Grimmauld Place nearly three summers ago, some of them now deceased. Feeling extreme anger and hurt growing inside him, Harry wished he could lunge at the Voldemort he now saw in the memory. 

_He was responsible for all their deaths,_ Harry inwardly raged. _It's his fault! All his fault!_

Harry unconsciously began to move in the direction of Voldemort and his many masked Death Eaters, but Dumbledore firmly held him back. 

"No, Harry," he said steadily. "I know what's going through your mind right now. Seeing those whose lives have been lost has caused feelings and thoughts you have tried to suppress for a long time to surface. You have known the truth for a long time now, but I fear that-" 

"Actually seeing them as if they were living again makes it a hundred times worse... and more real than I could ever imagine," Harry finished. "I'm sorry, sir... I- I just wish I could stop him." 

"You can and you will, Harry, but not here, not now. Now you must watch." 

Harry felt Dumbledore's grip lessen on his shoulders, and so, he watched the scene play out before him. They were in a field on the outskirts of a small village, and Harry could hear cries in the distance and see flames coming from the village. 

"Give it up, Tom!" the younger Dumbledore's voice rang through the summer night air. "You have nothing to gain by what you have been doing!" 

Voldemort laughed, high and long. "You fool of an old man! Why do you resist me? Give in now, and your death will be much less painful." 

"We'll never surrender to you!" someone yelled from the side of the good. 

Harry craned his head, trying to see who it was, but before he could, one of the Death Eaters fired a curse at one of the members of the Order, causing that person to fall to the ground. It was enough to cause a full-on battle to break out. Curses and hexes, some Unforgivables from the Death Eaters, fired back and forth. Soon enough, the two opposing sides clashed. Harry couldn't tell who the Death Eaters were, as their faces were covered, but he wondered if one of them was Snape. Standing here now, witnessing such tradegy and violence, Harry was angered that Snape had at one time been one of those people responsible for the deaths of so many people. 

The battle raged on, though, for a long time. Harry was amazed at the sheer length of the memory, but he kept his eyes on his parents especially. Luckily, they had remained unharmed. Of course, Harry knew their deaths would not have been in this battle. He didn't know what year it was, but his mother didn't appear pregnant, so he thought it must have been a year or so before he was born. 

By the time the battle ended, two Death Eaters were down, whether dead or not Harry couldn't tell, and three members of the Order were down, one confirmed dead. Voldemort, like the coward he was, retreated, but just before he left, he bellowed, "There will be a next time, Dumbledore, and then you will meet your doom!" 

The words were too predictable. To Harry, it seemed like the only things that could come out of the mouth of someone as vile as Voldemort were such cliche statements said only by those evil overlords who wanted to "rule the world." Before Harry could say anything, he felt himself being lifted out of the memory, and when he opened his eyes again, he was once again in Dumbledore's office. 

Dumbledore was still standing behind him, but then he walked around his desk and took a seat, sighed long and heavily. Harry wondered if the memory had exhausted the old headmaster. 

"So now you have seen an example of what happened during the first war," Dumbledore stated. 

Harry nodded. "What year was that, sir?" 

"1979, I believe," Dumbledore murmured. "Still two years before you would finally defeat him, at least for another thirteen years." 

"It was so... strange," Harry mumbled. "I mean, seeing all those people alive again." He felt numb, unable to say what was really on his mind, the depth of his feelings. 

Dumbledore sighed. "It is sad, Harry, to see them again... once so alive and young. Those who are in the Order again know that all too well. We suffered much loss those years, but I believe that to fully understand the level of loss, you may need to see another memory." 

Dumbledore was regarding Harry very closely, and Harry shifted in his seat, wondering to what memory Dumbledore could possibly be referring. 

"I thought I had seen enough," Harry whispered. 

"You have seen more in your own lifetime, Harry, that most ever would, but now, I am trying to prepare you as best as I can. It will pain you to no end, but you need to see what I am about to show you." 

Harry frowned, a sinking feeling settling in his stomach. 

"And which memory is that, sir?" he finally asked hesitantly. 

"The aftermath of the destruction of Voldemort by you, Harry." 

Harry's head was spinning. He wanted to see and didn't want to see it at the same time. There had been nights he had spent awake, wondering what had happened. True, he had been told that his father had been killed first, and then Voldemort had gone for him, while his mother begged Voldemort to spare him. Voldemort had told Lily that she didn't have to die, but she had sacrificed herself for her son... and then, when Voldemort had come face-to-face with baby Harry, his killing curse backfired, and he was destroyed. 

Now, gazing down into the Pensieve, Harry saw what looked like a house in ruin. Smoke was billowing up from the mess. Harry glanced at Dumbledore. 

"But, sir, were you even there?" 

"Actually, Harry, what you are seeing is Hagrid's memory," Dumbledore explained. 

"You mean, more than one person's memories can be stored in the Pensieve at the same time?" Harry asked incredulously. 

"Yes, Harry," Dumbledore replied. "Now, let us enter." 

Harry dove head-first into the Pensieve, and once again, he found himself immersed in a memory. Sirius had just landed on the ground on his flying motorcycle, and Hagrid was busily pushing his way through the wrecked house. Harry watched as Sirius rushed toward Hagrid, just as Hagrid found baby Harry still alive. Picking up the wailing child, Hagrid held Harry gingerly in his large hands. Tears were prickling at the edges of his beetle-black eyes. 

"Hagrid!" Sirius called, urgently tugging on his coat. 

Hagrid turned around and sniffed loudly. "They're d- dead," he stuttered. "Gone... both of them." 

Sirius felt his heart skip of beat. Harry watched his godfather's face fall, knowing that Sirius couldn't believe it was true - that his best friend and his best friend's wife were dead. 

Sirius looked desperately at Harry. "Give him to me, Hagrid... please. I'm his godfather." 

"'M sorry, Sirius," Hagrid insisted. "Dumbledore told me ter bring little Harry ter him." 

"What!" Sirius exclaimed, exasperated and hurt. "But- but no, James would've wanted-" 

"Sorry," Hagrid apologized again, giving Sirius a sad look. "Maybe yeh'll see him 'gain soon." 

Sirius protested further, but Hagrid only shook his head, saying he had to take Harry to Dumbledore immediately. 

"Can I borrow yer bike?" Hagrid asked suddenly. 

Sirius wanted to protest again, but he was finding himself too worn and drained. With a reluctant nod, he allowed Hagrid the use of his motorcycle, and Harry watched as Hagrid flew away, and then the memory ended. He was in Dumbledore's office again, knowing what would happen to poor Sirius soon thereafter, knowing what would happen to him. 

Thinking about his house in ruins, his parents' remains somewhere within, burning... burning... burning... Harry closed his eyes, trying to keep the burning of tears from taking hold. 


	51. Chapter FiftyOne

Chapter Fifty-One

Harry closed his eyes, trying to keep the burning of tears from taking hold. From across the desk, Dumbledore watched Harry wordlessly, allowing the boy a few moments to compose himself. Finally, Harry looked up and glared at the old man. 

"How- how could you?" he growled, his teeth clenched. 

"How could I what, Harry?" Dumbledore asked passively. 

"How could you do that to Sirius? Why didn't you let him take me? Maybe then he wouldn't have gone after Peter Pettigrew... maybe then he wouldn't have gone to Azkaban... and maybe he would have been free and therefore never had to have been locked up in his house and eventually gone behind the veil." Harry felt his insides churning violently, and for the first time in a long time, he felt like he wanted to attack Dumbledore. He was enraged, as upset at Dumbledore as he had been at the end of his fifth year, wanting to blame Dumbledore for the reason his life was so miserable. 

Dumbledore gazed on silently, knowing full well that Harry was not finished with his growing tirade. Standing up and balling his fists, Harry began pacing the room. "You made me spend the first eleven years of my life with the Dursleys, when I could have spent them with Sirius! Didn't you know I was going to be unhappy? And Sirius... you treated him the same way! You told me that your first concern was keeping us 'safe,' as you put it, but what about our happiness? I don't care if being at the Dursleys' offered me protection or whatever... Look what happened there! Voldemort eventually found a way to break through that! He also found a way to break through the wards on Grimmauld Place! All the places you thought were supposed to keep us safe wound up failing, so why bother at all!" 

"Harry," Dumbledore said gently, as if he were very tired. "Please sit down. You are working yourself up unnecessarily." 

"I don't care!" Harry yelled. 

"Yes, you do," Dumbledore urged. "I understand your anger, Harry. You have every right to be angry - angry at me, angry at Voldemort, angry at the world. As for the time right after you defeated Voldemort, I had to take extra precautions. I thought Sirius had been the Secret Keeper, but it was difficult to know who to trust. I believe that even Sirius had told you that he questioned the loyalties of his good friend Remus Lupin at the time." 

"It's... it's just so bloody unfair," Harry mumbled, feeling the original rage begin to vanish. He unclenched his fists and slumped his shoulders. He couldn't stay angry that long anymore, no, for he was not the child he had once been, who allowed his feelings to control him. 

"You're absolutely right, Harry. That's why you should be so mad - it is completely unfair, but fair is hardly the way of the world. You, more than anyone, should know that. Haven't I already told you that, if I could, I would have taken your burden upon myself? I am an old man, Harry, who has lived long and seen much, and in your short life, I think you have seen much of what I have. In a way, that makes you wise beyond your years." 

Harry took his seat again and laughed once, bitterly. "Wise?" he inquired, darkly amused. "I don't feel very wise. I feel like I've been living my life in circles, encircling a big lie - that's what I feel like. I feel like we've been been going about our lives as if nothing has happened, and we're just supposed to wait for Voldemort to come knocking at our door, and we'll be totally unprepared. If the places we once thought were safe no longer are so, then it's only a matter of time before Hogwarts is no longer safe... You, Professor, have already told me that. So, why are we just sitting here like a bunch of idiots waiting to be slaughtered?" 

"It is true, Harry, that Hogwarts is not the safehaven we once knew it to be, but it is still safer than most places. While I feel that my life's energy is slowly draining, I am doing all that I can to ensure the protection of each and every one of the students within this school. What you need to do now, Harry, is focus extra hard on your strengths and, most importantly, on your true source of power. I have told you again and again that only you know what that power is, and you will need that very power to defeat Voldemort." 

All Harry could do was sigh, feeling defeated once again in Dumbledore's presence. He left the office, wondering if it had truly been necessary for him to see those horrific memories. 

The rest of the day passed uneventfully, and that night, Harry slept fitfully, tossing and turning in his sleep, dreaming about losing more people he loved. When he woke up the next morning, he rubbed at his eyes, trying to remove the cobwebs from his brain. Putting on his glasses, he glanced across the room a little way to find Ron staring back at him. 

"What?" Harry asked, aghast. 

"Good morning to you, too, mate," Ron replied sullenly. 

"Sorry," Harry mumbled. "Morning and all that. I'm not really in the mood, Ron." 

Harry began making his way toward the door, in hopes of taking a shower before heading down to the Great Hall for breakfast. Ron followed him. 

"In the mood for what?" Ron persisted. 

Harry sighed exasperatedly, turned, and glared at Ron. "I'm going to take a shower," he said pointedly. "Unless you're planning on doing likewise, please just leave me alone right now, all right, Ron?" 

"Fine, fine," Ron replied defensively. He watched Harry's retreating back and glanced back into the dormitory room. Neville was sitting on his bed, studying Herbology. 

"What's with him?" Ron asked, truly vexed. 

Looking up from his book, Neville said, "You didn't hear it?" 

His brow creased, Ron replied, "No. Hear what?" 

"All night," Neville began. "All night, Harry was tossing in his bed. I think he was having nightmares or something. It kept me awake most of the night. I'm surprised you didn't hear it." 

Ron suppressed a grin at the reason why he hadn't heard Harry's restlessness. "I sleep like a rock," Ron explained, but then he frowned. "I wonder why he was having nightmares. That'd explain why he was so moody just now." 

Neville shrugged, as did Ron. Ron proceeded to change into his clothes for the day and went down to the common room, where he found Hermione and Ginny waiting. He gave Hermione a quick kiss, to which Ginny pretended not to notice. 

"Let's go," Ron said. 

"Shouldn't we wait for Harry?" Hermione questioned. 

"He's... uh, not in a very good mood this morning," Ron answered awkwardly. 

"Why? Did he say?" Ginny inquired, growing concerned. 

"No, he didn't, but Neville told me Harry didn't sleep well last night." 

"Maybe he just didn't want to return to school," Hermione murmured, not really convincing herself or anyone. 

Ron shrugged. 

Ginny said, "Well, I'm gonna wait up for him for a little while. Maybe I can talk to him." 

Hermione and Ron nodded and left the common room. Ginny kept her eyes on the stairs, occasionally glancing at the clock on the mantle of the fireplace. The next five minutes seemed to take an eternity to pass, but then, just as she was about to give up and leave, she saw Harry coming down the steps. His hair was still wet, and his clothes were wrinkled and appeared like they had been thrown of haphazardly. His eyes were downcast, and his shoulders were slumped. 

He didn't even notice her as he made his way across the common room, but when he almost bumped into her, Ginny said his name. 

"Harry." 

He started for a second, then regained his composure and looked her in the eyes. "Ginny, what are you doing here?" 

The question stung more than she would have liked. She wasn't sure if he had intended such an effect, but nonetheless, the bluntness of his words hurt. There was no "good morning" or "hello." No, a simple question, asking why she was standing here was what he said in way of greeting. 

"Shouldn't it be obvious, Harry?" Ginny retorted, a bit annoyed in her hurt. "Ron told me, okay? I just wanted to see if you were all right," she said, her voice softening. 

Harry kept his eyes on hers for a moment, and in his green eyes, Ginny saw so many emotions, she couldn't name that all. Above all, though, she thought she saw a small child crying out in desperation, perhaps to his mother. She was not his mother, but hadn't Harry once told her how much she reminded him of Lily? 

"I..." he hesitated. "I had a talk with Dumbledore yesterday in his office, and he showed me some things in his Pensieve." 

Ginny waited for him to elaborate, but when he didn't, she prodded gently, "And?" 

"He wanted me to see some of his memories from the first war," he explained, not wanting to go into any details, believing that, if he did, it would be like reliving everything he had been forced to witness yesterday. 

"Oh. Well..." Ginny shifted awkwardly, knowing that this was a touchy subject, and decided not to press the matter further... for now. 

Harry changed the subject. "Can we go to breakfast now? I'm rather starving." 

Ginny smiled weakly, nodded, and followed Harry out the portal and to the Great Hall. 

Much of the day passed like all days Harry spent as a student: the boring, mundane existence of attending classes, doing homework, and the like. When he returned to his room that night, Harry thought about what Dumbledore had said regarding using his strengths. He removed his glasses as he climbed into bed, and pulling the covers up to his chin, he lay on his bed, with his arms bent behind his head, staring at the top of his canopy bed. 

_What are my strengths, anyway? He keeps telling me that I have the power inside me to ultimately defeat Voldemort. If that's true, then why do I feel so bloody helpless? I feel like I'll lose everyone around me... unless I somehow keep them away or remove myself from them._

Filling his mind with self-doubt, Harry felt like a child again, vulnerable and weak. He even questioned his placement into Gryffindor, wondering if he was truly the brave hero he had been made out to be. 

_But I didn't even do anything! Why's the credit given to me for defeating Voldemort, when it was my mum who did it? Wasn't it her sacrifice that both protected me and annihilated him? Maybe... I need to..._

Harry was having a difficult time finishing that thought. He was only seventeen years old, for Merlin's sake. When would he finally be free to live his life as he pleased? Only after Voldemort was gone, but now, Harry was wondering if he would even be there for that time. He thought about his promise he had made to Ginny, telling her that he felt he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her... if he survived. 

_Maybe I need to sacrifice myself, too._

Was dying so bad, really? He would finally see his parents again, but not Sirius. Sirius was in another realm, but not the afterlife, apparently. 

Harry eventually fell asleep that night, but again, his sleep was not sound. By the morning, Ron was even more concerned than he had been the day before. 

"You didn't sound too good last night, mate," he said to Harry, hoping his friend wouldn't take offense. "Even I heard you." 

Harry scowled, wishing that he could have his own room at times like this. What ever happened to privacy? 

"I knew I shoulda cast a silencing charm around my bed," Harry groaned, rubbing at his aching head. 

"Getting a headache?" Ron asked. 

"Yeah," Harry mumbled. "Don't worry about it, though, okay?" 

"But I'm supposed to worry, Harry," Ron insisted. "All your friends are. If we didn't care, we wouldn't worry." 

"I know," Harry gave in. "Look, I appreciate your concern; I really do, but you all have lives to live." 

"As do you, mate." 

"Maybe not for much longer," Harry couldn't help muttering as he stared at the floor. 

Ron had heard him and was now really worried about what he was hearing. Gently shaking his friend, Ron said, hoping he sounded at least somewhat reassuring, "Hey, look... Don't talk like that. You're gonna make it through this. You've got your friends... the Order... We won't let that monster do anything bad to you." 

Harry was unnerved by the seriousness of Ron's tone. Very rarely did Ron ever speak in such a way. 

"But that's what I'm worried about, Ron!" Harry exclaimed. "You think I'm just worried about my own back? No! I don't want to see any more people get hurt or worse, killed, on account of me!" 

Ron stepped back, speechless. 

"Just forget about it," Harry suddenly said. "Let's go to breakfast." Although he said that, he wasn't very hungry. 

Somehow, Harry made it through another gruelling day. After dinner, he went to the library, hoping to escape the looks of concern his friends kept directing his way. Knowing that Hermione might be in the library, he hid out in a section that he thought she most likely wouldn't go. It was the section that housed the yearbooks and other certain records of Hogwarts and its staff and students over the years. Harry didn't even sit at a table. Instead, he perched himself on the wide sill of one of the windows overlooking the lake. 

Gazing out the window, he saw that the lake was frozen entirely, and darkness had settled over the earth a couple hours ago. The whiteness of the snow was the only thing illuminated by the moon. Harry thought about going outside, even though most would think him out of his mind, but outside, he felt like he could escape from the confines of his small world within Hogwarts. 

Turning his attention to the shelves upon shelves of yearbooks, Harry scanned the volumes, taking note of the years. When he came to 1976-1977, he realized that would have been his father's final year at Hogwarts. He stood and went over to the shelf, carefully removing the book, sneezing at the dust its removal released into the air. Apparently, these books had not been touched in quite some time. 

Harry took the yearbook back to the window sill and settled down to look through its pages. In the front were the staff, many of whom were still the same as now. They had not changed overly much, especially Dumbledore. Next came the seventh years, divided by house, listed alphabetically within each category. The first house listed, of course, was Gryffindor. 

Harry first came to "Black, Sirius" and gazed down at his godfather's picture. He looked just slightly older than he did in the portrait of him that he spoke through. Like all wizard photographs, this one was enchanted to move. Sirius smiled and winked at him, ever the attractive girl-magnet he had once been. Next, Harry came to "Evans, Lily." She smiled sweetly and sincerely, looking beautiful and innocent. Remus Lupin's picture was somewhat shy, and he smiled a little, but he seemed like he would rather not be the center of attention. Peter Pettigrew's picture had a paranoid look about him, his eyes dashing quickly back and forth, a nervous smile sometimes on his face. Finally, Harry reached "Potter, James." James was smiling smugly and occasionally messed up his hair. He did look every bit as arrogant as he had in Snape's memory. 

Harry frowned. He wished he could pull his parents right out of their pictures, but he knew what he was looking at was nothing but a picture, just like all the other photos he had of them. 

Then, remembering that Snape was also in the same class, Harry turned to the section labelled "Slytherin." Snape was not smiling at all. In fact, he was frowned, clearly not amused that he was being photographed. He looked toward Harry suspiciously, and Harry was unnerved by how true-to-life that look of distrust was. Harry closed the yearbook, sighed, and returned it to its place. 

He knew he could look at all the pictures he wanted and see all the memories he desired, but nothing would ever change the events that had come to pass. Death was irreversible. Magic was incapable of changing death. 


	52. Chapter FiftyTwo

Chapter Fifty-Two

Harry forcefully numbed himself to everything and everyone around him, resigning himself to his fate - or what he believed would be his fate. At meals, he oftentimes sat there, filling his stomach with food, but not really tasting it. While his friends and classmates talked around him, he heard words here and there, but didn't really listen. As detached as the words were, not forming anything whole or comprehensible, Harry tried to mentally remove himself from every situation as much as possible. While he saw people passing in the corridors between classes and half-watched their expressions as they cast looks of confusion and concern his way, Harry didn't truly see them anymore. He felt like he was always gazing past them, losing himself in the grainy grey of the stones that composed the walls and floors... He was walking in a grey area as of late, everything so unclear, trying to harden his heart. Maybe if he had no attachments to this world, he would not have to feel the penetrating loss that had been niggling at his heart for months, even years, but was now threatening to devour his heart. Stone was not easily swallowed or broken. 

One can imagine, then, the nerve it took for Harry's friends to finally approach him and practically demand his attention and his friendship back. 

In the first week of February, Hermione purposefully sat down rather sloppily on the couch next to Harry, causing the cushions to move, disturbing Harry's concentration. 

"Hey, Harry," she said, trying to keep a smile on her face. 

"Hi, Hermione," he replied, not looking up from his book. He reminded slouched over the open tome, his head propped in his hands, his elbows resting on his knees. "I'm kinda busy right now." 

"Please, Harry, just a minute of your time might be advantageous to both you and us. Is that asking too much?" Hermione cast him a pleading look. 

Harry sighed. "Imagine that. Hermione would rather I talk than study." 

Hermione rolled her eyes, then schooled her expression. "I'm being serious, Harry. You have barely spoken to us in a couple of weeks, and we're worried about you. You did this last year, but- this year... it's worse. You seem so distant, so cold, Harry." 

Ron was sitting across from him. "We just wanna talk to you, mate. You've hardly told us what's wrong, but we know what you're trying to do, and we won't let you." 

"No, not this time, Harry," Ginny cut in. "You're not going to push away your friends. We won't allow it." 

Hearing the determination and finality in Ginny's voice, Harry looked up, scowling. "I know you mean well, guys, but if you get too close to me, you know what could happen. D'you really want to end up like Cedric or Sirius?" 

For a while, Ron, Ginny, and Hermione was silent, then Hermione worked up the courage to speak. "Harry, listen. In your fourth year, when... when Cedric died, we were worried sick about you. We felt so helpless, wishing we could be there with you in that terrible time. When you and Cedric were transported by that portkey, we were left there to sit and worry ourselves senseless, wondering if we'd ever see you again. We don't want to have to feel like that again... ever. We've been there with you through so much, Harry, and we're going to continue to be there with you and for you to the end, whatever that might be." 

_Spoken like a true Gryffindor,_ thought Ron, admiring Hermione and amazed by her words. 

"Case in point, Harry," Ron firmly stated, "we're going with you to that final battle, whether you like it or not." 

"There are other people, too, who would help fight," Ginny added, coming to his side. She perched herself on the arm of the couch and wrapped an arm around Harry. "Remember Dumbledore's Army?" She smiled, in hopes that it would ignite a spark in Harry. 

"Yeah," he mumbled. "I guess I just... have been focusing so much on keeping everyone away that I had forgotten." 

"Not forgotten, Harry... just neglected," Hermione pointed out gently. "It's been a couple of months now since you had a meeting. Maybe it's time to get it going again? It'll get your mind off the negative thoughts that have been festering inside you and onto something productive and more positive." 

Harry considered it. Hadn't he started the DA his fifth year for the very reason of preparing willing students to improve their fighting and defensive techniques for the second war? He recalled Dumbledore telling him to use his strengths. Was the DA one of those strengths? Realizing the support of his friends was strong and genuine, Harry also knew that he had a strength in his friends. He wanted to admit his foolishness for thinking that he didn't need them and that he could face Voldemort alone, but also, it was not foolishness to want to protect them. That was concern. 

"Well, all right," Harry finally agreed, not sounding one hundred percent convinced. "I guess I can't force anyone to stay away from me." 

"No, I'm afraid you're stuck with us," Ron joked, lightening the mood some. 

For the first time in a while, a smile cracked on Harry's face. 

Notifications went out later that day that the next DA meeting was scheduled for the following week. Feeling better than he had in days, Harry lay in bed that night, quietly contemplating what his friends had told him. His mind drifted in and out of consciousness, somewhere lost between the world of waking and sleeping, in a mysterious place full of memories. He realized that, with the exception of his fourth year at Hogwarts, his friends had always been there for him in the times he faced Voldemort. He was not alone. 

Just before falling into a peaceful sleep, he remembered the deeply moving and important conversation he had had with Ginny the previous February. It had been a defining moment in their relationship and reinforced the fact that Harry needed his friends by his side. 

_Harry apprehensively walked over to where Ginny was sitting and took a seat across the table from her. Ginny noticed Harry's presence, but she didn't say anything as she lifted her gaze from the parchment in front of her to Harry's green eyes. Casting a quizzical look in Harry's direction, Ginny eyed him suspiciously. _

What does he want?

"Coming here to beg forgiveness?" Ginny retorted sarcastically. 

"Er, yes... actually," Harry hesitated. 

"Hmph," Ginny muttered. "And why should I forgive you?" 

"Ginny," Harry said evenly, "I'm sorry. I really am. What I did... what I said... it was all completely selfish and rude of me. I was acting like a right prat." 

"Yeah, I'd say you were," Ginny barked, "but the damage has already been done, Harry, so look, just forget it. Just forget that we ever had anything between us, 'cause, you know, I don't even think we ever really did have anything special. It's obvious that your attention has been elsewhere all year, and Merlin forbid it I should dare get in the way." 

Ginny hastily reached for her books and began to pack them into her bag in a fury of emotion. Standing up, intent on returning to her room, where she knew Harry couldn't bother her, Ginny began to stalk away, but Harry was quicker. He blocked the way to the staircase and eyed her shrewdly. 

Glaring at Harry, Ginny spat, "What do you want from me, Harry? Please get out of my way!" 

"No," Harry replied, keeping his voice steady. 

"No? No! Fine, I'll just go to the library, then, if you won't move-" 

"Ginny, please," Harry practically pleaded, noticing that the other students in the room were eyeing them curiously. "Can we go someplace where we won't have an audience, at least? There's something I need to tell you, and I'd rather it be away from... well, prying ears and eyes." 

"Something to tell me in private?" Ginny whispered, feeling quite sick. "Whatever you're up to, Harry, I'll have no part of it. If it's so important, you can bloody well tell me right here." 

"All right, all right," Harry surrendered. "Just... sit down, okay?" 

Staring Harry down hard with her brown eyes, Ginny sighed loudly and threw her bag on to the floor. Sitting down in the nearest chair, Ginny said, "Well, out with it, then." 

"Ginny, I-" Harry swallowed nervously. Why is this so difficult!_ "I wanted to do something for you that would show you just how much... well, how much you do mean to me, and since we can't exactly go to Hogsmeade or out on the grounds for a picnic with all this snow, I had to think of something else, and, well, here..." _

Harry reached into his pocket, his fingers fumbling over the picture as he grasped it, and he hesitantly handed it to Ginny, whose brow knitted in confusion, the anger leaving her face. 

"What?" she asked softly. "Harry, I don't understand. I mean, this is a picture of your parents..." 

"Yeah, I know," Harry replied, "but look at them. Don't they look happy?" 

Ginny nodded. "But what does this have to do with us?" 

"Well, everyone's always telling me how much I look like my dad and even act like him in some ways, and then today, as I looked at this picture, I realized how much you and my mum have in common. Ginny, I've been told that my mum was a sweet, beautiful, and strong woman, and in so many ways, you're just like her... all those things that she was. I dunno... maybe it sounds crazy. Hell, I don't even know if I'll live to survive this whole war-" 

"Harry..." Ginny said with concern, reaching for his arm. 

"Let's not deny it, Ginny," Harry said firmly. "It's a real possibility... but if I do survive, I dunno... I'd like very much one day to be married and have a family, and so, here's hoping. Maybe one day... one day, this might be you and me in a picture." 

Tears welled up uncontrollably in Ginny's eyes as she exclaimed, "Oh, Harry!" She immediately wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled him toward her, taking him by surprise, but a flood of relief rushed over Harry in that instant as he smiled and placed his arms around Ginny. 

For a while, they just sat there, locked in each other's embrace. Finally, reluctantly, Ginny loosened her hold just enough so she could pull her head back enough to look Harry in the eyes. Smiling, Ginny said, "You're forgiven." 

And forgiven he was again. He smiled, dreaming of Ginny's eyes and soft touch and warm lips. 

When students began assembling for the DA meeting, Harry was surprised to see some new faces. Some of the students appeared to be as young as first and second years, and some of them were even from Slytherin. When Draco suddenly floated into the room, he had a rather smug look on his face, and his translucent grey eyes were on the Slytherins. 

"Rather impressive, wouldn't you say, Potter?" he asked, gestering toward the Slytherins. 

Drawing his eyes away from said students, Harry nodded. "Sure, Malfoy. How, though?" 

"You have me to thank for that, Potter," Draco smirked. "I worked a bit of my Slytherin cunning and talked them into checking out your little Dumbledore fan club." 

Harry flushed at the choice of words. "It's hardly a fan club," Harry said, annoyed. "But thanks, anyway, Malfoy. It's, uh... good to see them here." 

Draco wasn't fully convinced by Harry's usage of the word "good." He thought of pursuing the topic further, drilling Harry about whether or not he thought everyone in Slytherin was a bad seed that would only grow rotten fruit, but he decided to keep his ghostly mouth shut. A little light tormenting of Harry in the middle of that night could always suffice, Draco reckoned. 

When it appeared that everyone was gathered, Harry quieted the crowd down, which took a while, as there was much excitement, what with the newcomers and all. Hermione took down the names of the new students, explaining that they wouldn't be full members until the end of the meeting, when they could tell either Harry or her if they wanted to be permanent members. When she explained the seriousness of being a part of the club, some of the youngsters' faces paled with fright. 

Next, Harry began instructing them, reviewing some of the things he had previously taught them. When he asked them to choose partners and practice, Harry walked through the room, checking everyone's technique. As he moved throughout the room, he wondered if he might one day teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, even with his potential career of being an Auror. Then again, he didn't want to put Lupin out of a job, assuming that Lupin would still be teaching that post for many years to come, and Harry sincerely hoped he would. Harry idly wondered if Snape would keep applying for the job. He imagined the look on Snape's face when and if he ever applied for the job... and got it. 

Harry's thoughts were interrupted, though, when he came upon a pair of first year Slytherins. He watched them shrewdly for a while. The one boy kept messing up, which began to frustrate Harry. Suddenly, anger he hadn't realized he had been harboring surfaced, and he barked at the child, "You're doing it all wrong! Are you that hopeless that you can't even perform a simple blocking spell, you- you Slytherin!" 

Harry stopped himself at the last moment from calling the boy a name much worse, but it didn't matter. The boy's arm dropped to his side, his hand shaking as he tried to keep hold of his wand. He was looking at Harry like most first years regarded Snape when yelled at and degraded for the first time, his lips trembling. Then, he started to cry. 

Immediate guilt flooded Harry's heart. He knew he should apologize, but he was too humiliated by his own foolishness to say the words. He, too, shook, but not like this child. He was shaking with rage at himself. He quickly glanced at everyone in the room, noticing that all their eyes were on him. 

"Practice's over," he blurted, then turned on his heel and left in a flurry of flying robes and emotion, leaving everyone speechless. 

Pacing frantically through the halls, Harry wanted to scream. Didn't those fools realize how grave the present circumstances were? Didn't they know a blasted war was going on? Harry shoved open the front doors, not caring that the fierce winter wind was chilling him to the bone. He trudged through the snow, which was up to his knees, barely feeling the cold wetness as it soaked his shoes and pants. Snowflakes were thrown in his face unmercifully, and Harry found himself laughing sourly at the sheer irony. Life, it seemed, was also throwing nothing but hardships directly in his face, unrelenting. 

So much for his short-lived happiness. 


	53. Chapter FiftyThree

Chapter Fifty-Three

Hermione could feel the eyes of everyone on her. With Harry gone, they all turned to her, the second in command, for what they should do next. Hermione regarded the grief-stricken first year Slytherin boy and walked over to him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder. 

Glancing back at Ron, she nodded firmly. Ron took her cue and said to the room at large, "You heard him. This meeting is over." 

Several groans and sighs elicited from the members of the DA, but one by one, they began to leave. Hermione gently asked the boy, "Are you all right?" 

He glared up at her from his low vantage point. "I don't need any bloody Gryffindor coddling me," he ground out and then roughly shrugged off her hand and ran out of the room. 

"Oh, dear," Hermione murmured, watching the boy leave. She looked helplessly back at Ron and Ginny, the only two people remaining in the room. 

"What's Harry playing at?" Ron asked a bit angrily. "Maybe we should go find him and talk some sense into him, and if that doesn't work, maybe I'll just have to-" 

"No, Ron!" Ginny desperately exclaimed, looking at her brother with large, watery eyes. "We've already tried talking to him, and it's not really done any good." 

"But we're his friends!" Ron protested hotly. "If he can't talk to us, then who can he talk to?" 

"He needs to come to us... or whoever on his own terms," Hermione said sadly, realizing the horrible truth of the matter. "You know what he's told us - that he doesn't want to get too close to us, to anyone, and cause them harm because he is the prime target of Vol- Voldemort." 

Ron was beside himself. "I can't believe you two!" he shouted. "Who's he gonna talk to? Huh?" 

"Well," Hermione said, trying to keep calm, "there's Lupin, Hagrid, Dumbledore... uh, Sirius... maybe even Sn-" 

Ron wheeled around and said in a tone of disbelief, "Were you just about to say 'Snape,' Hermione! You think Harry would actually choose talking to Snape over us?" 

Ginny nodded slightly. "Well, maybe-" 

"No, not maybe!" Ron exclaimed, his face now as red as his hair. "I don't care if-" 

"Ron, please," Hermione pleaded. "The adults have seen the first war. They know more than we do. We're not in the Order, but they are. I know you don't like him, but Snape has been putting his life on the line for years now by spying for Dumbledore and the Order. He might just be Harry's best source when it comes to dealing with You-Know-Who." 

"Rubbish," Ron mumbled, making for the exit. Hermione tried to reach for his arm, but he sped away from her, leaving the two girls gazing at each other sadly. 

Even Harry couldn't desensitize himself to the overwhelming cold. When the chilliness grew too unbearable for him, Harry reluctantly returned to the castle. While he was trudging back, he thought about stopping by Hagrid's place, hoping for some understanding from the gentle half-giant, but Harry just as quickly changed his mind, not wanting to impose himself and his problems on anyone if he didn't have to do so. 

Harry wasn't sure how long he had been outside, but he wagered it couldn't have been for more than a half an hour. In that short period of time, he had not realized that the young Slytherin he had yelled at would literally go running to his head of house and tattle on him. So Harry was unprepared for the encounter he was about to come across. 

The moment he entered and took not two full steps into the castle, Snape was bearing down on him. "What have you done now, Potter?" he demanded, his black eyes boring into Harry. 

Taken aback, Harry jumped as the wind slammed the door shut behind him. He glared at Snape for a second and then made to leave, feeling he owed this unrelenting, brooding man any explanation. You can imagine the shock Harry felt, then, when he suddenly felt Snape's hand grasping his arm rather harshly. 

"Look at me, boy," Snape growled. 

Harry felt his hand inching toward his wand. "Let go of me, or I'll hex you, Snape," Harry said in a low hiss, one that was quite uncharacteristic of him. "I'm not in the mood to play games with you right now." 

"You forget your place in this school, Potter," Snape spat. "You are the student. I am the teacher. There are grave penalties to pay for hexing a professor, including, but not limited to, expulsion." 

"I don't care!" Harry snarled, finding the strength to pull his arm away from Snape's death grip. "Go ahead! Expel me! Isn't that what you've always wanted! Then you and everyone else here will finally be rid of me, and you won't have to worry about my very presence cursing everybody to death!" 

"What rubbish are you blathering about, Potter?" Snape asked. "You have been acting strangly the past few weeks, even for you and your insufferable... oddities. To get to the point, however, since you seem so bent on trying to distract me with your foolish gibberish, a student of mine just came to me and informed me of your treatment toward him. What have you do say?" 

Realizing what this was about, Harry groaned. "You're telling me that he went running to you already? If that kid is really that cowardly, then maybe he shouldn't have joined the DA to begin with. He didn't seem to know a curse from a counter-curse to save his life." 

"Not unlike your friend Longbottom?" Snape inquired smoothly, knowing where to dig deeper to provoke Harry. 

"That's an unfair comparison!" Harry said defensively. "Neville's improved a lot the past couple of years, and after what happened to his parents and him, how can you blame him? He hasn't exactly had an easy life." 

"And what do you know of this young boy's life whose you have just ruined?" Snape snarled. 

"Please!" Harry shot back sardonically. "I haven't ruined his life by just one little outburst." 

"Perhaps... perhaps not. The point is that you may have taken away whatever small amount of hope he ever had. Why do you think I favor my house so? It is because the ill-fated, much-hated Slytherins are practically trampled on by bullying Gryffindors such as yourself, Potter." 

"Oh, and I suppose you would know a lot about what that feels like," Harry spat cruelly, obviously referring to how his father and Sirius had treated Snape in his school days. "If you wanna talk about bullying and having hope taken away, then what's your excuse, _sir_?" Harry purposefully placed a severe emphasis on the last word. "You yourself have treated me like filth on occasion after occasion. You are a hypocrite, _sir_." 

"I suggest, Potter, that you take a long, hard look at yourself in the mirror one day. Your behavior and your actions are a reflection of mine more than you would like to believe. That makes you a hypocrite, too." 

Harry was surprised that Snape didn't outright deny his own hypocrisy, but Harry didn't much like being referred to in the same way. Looking at Snape now, Harry thought he was seeing himself in more ways than he would have liked. He shook his head, looking away, ashamed. 

"I shouldn't have taken out my anger on that boy," he muttered. "It was wrong." 

"Yes, it was wrong," Snape said in clipped tones. 

"I'm sorry, sir," Harry whispered. "I just feel like I've been pulled from so many directions, all at once, recently. I sometimes don't know where to go or what to do. It sounds crazy, and it probably is," he paused and laughed bitterly. "I just didn't want to have to bring anyone else down with me when the time comes." 

Snape frowned. "What's this rubbish about bringing people down, Potter?" he asked, the usual venom gone from his voice. If Harry didn't know better, he would have thought there was even concern in Snape's tone. 

"More people dying because of me, the Voldemort-magnet," Harry said. "You know what I mean." 

"You are a fool if you think you can face him alone," Snape pointed out roughly. "I used to think the same thing. Why do you think I resented you so much?" 

"I- I thought it was because of my dad," Harry stuttered. 

"Don't mistake me, Potter. I hated your father as much as he hated me, and having to see his face staring back at me every time I see you is an unpleasantry I wish I could change. Your recklessness and disregard for the rules and authority are very much reminiscent of him as well, but as I have told you, you are not your father. I realize that now. But I thought I somehow had something to prove, perhaps more to myself than anyone, and I thought that if anyone should bring down the Dark Lord, it should be me. When you came along, having apparently done _nothing_ to deserve the dismal honor, shall we say, of destroying the Dark Lord, and you were granted instant fame, it made me sick. That is out of my control, though." 

"You thought you could defeat him?" Harry asked, aghast. 

"A suicide mission, I know now." Snape was silent for a moment, then said softly, "But if you think you are to face him alone, you are wrong, Harry." 

Harry was always surprised when Snape used his first name, for it somehow made whatever he was saying more personal, more sincere, maybe even more kind. A part of him wanted to go on arguing, but he was mentally and physically exhausted. It took a lot out of a person to keep shoving everyone away. He finally nodded. 

"Now, I suggest you stop this foolishness of pushing people away and acting as if your problems are the worst in the world," Snape smirked ironically, "and go back to your dormitory." 

Harry had nothing else to say. With a mumbled "Good night, sir," he left and returned to Gryffindor Tower. 

When Harry entered the common room, he was not surprised in the least to see his friends sitting there, obviously waiting for his return. They all had looks of apprehension on their faces, but Ron was also appearing angry. Harry tried to smile at them, but figured his supposed smile resembled more of a grimace. 

They were all pleasantly stunned when Harry actually approached them. They hadn't been sure what to expect from Harry upon his arrival. Would he be angry and start yelling at them, or would he be withdrawn and avoidant? He was neither. He was, in fact, oddly calm. 

"Harry?" Ginny asked tentatively. 

"Hi, guys," Harry mumbled, having a difficult time looking them in the faces. 

"We were worried about you," Hermione said gently, hoping to find a door to Harry's heart. She took small steps when dealing with her emotionally unstable friend. 

"Yeah, and pissed off," Ron muttered. "Where did you go?" 

Harry had to suppress the urge to reply scathingly to Ron's rude tone, but he knew that Ron's anger was only a result of feeling put out and hurt. "Sorry," Harry said. He felt like the word evoked nothing but emptiness as he felt his legs give way underneath him. Flopping gracelessly unto the couch, Harry muttered, "I'm so tired." 

"Then maybe you should get some rest," Hermione suggested softly. "Maybe you'll feel better in the morning." 

Harry nodded, not really believing that he would feel much better. He had to come to the realization that no matter how hard he tried to push others away, they would persist in being there for him and with him. He both hated that and loved that. How could he be feeling such conflicting emotions? Deep down, Harry was touched that his friends cared so much about him that they were willing to potentially sacrifice themselves while fighting along his side, but he wanted to protect them. They had not been forced into his predicament. 

"We chose willingly to stand beside you," Ginny suddenly said, coming to Harry's side and searching for his hand and understanding. He wondered if she had somehow been reading his mind, but just as soon dismissed it. Ginny didn't have to resort to Legilimency to know what was on Harry's mind, for she was so close to him, she knew without him having to say. 

"Exactly," Hermione agreed earnestly. "You can't decide for other people, Harry. If you can't rely on your friends to be there for you, who can you rely on?" 

"Myself," Harry ground out. A part of him wanted to add _And only myself._

"No, mate," Ron said, finally allowing his anger to dispel. "That's just insane." 

Harry didn't want to say what he was about to say, but he knew it was the truth. "You're right," he said. "I can't force you to decide anything, but I just hope... I just hope you know what you're getting yourselves into. I hope you realize what you're risking." 

_Your lives._ Those words remained unspoken. 

"We know what we're willing to put on the line for you, Harry," Ginny said. "Nothing short of our very lives." Again, she seemed to know exactly what Harry was thinking. 

Ron and Hermione nodded in complete agreement, and Harry knew in that moment that he could not have asked for better friends. 

Since the hour had grown late, the group Gryffindors retired to their beds. Harry lay there, marvelling at the wonder of such friendship. True friends were a rarity in life. Many times, people did what was in their own best interests, regardless of how many people it hurt. There were people who called themselves friends, but when a situation arose which put such supposed friendships to the ultimate test of loyalty, many shattered to pieces in a matter of seconds, never to be mended again. 

Harry wasn't sure what he had done to be blessed with such wonderful people in his life. According to everything his ears had ever heard from the Dursleys during ten years of his life, he was a freak and didn't deserve friendship. He was locked in a cupboard and kept at home while they left for hours at a time and enjoyed whatever it was they did for entertainment. Now, thinking back, Harry realized that Dudley probably never had anyone in his life he could call a true friend. Being spoiled with every sort of toy or game or gadget imaginable, Dudley was a rotten child who hung out with other kids like himself: selfish, rude brutes whose only pleasure in life was tormenting smaller kids like Harry. 

People like Dudley would never know what real friends were. Harry realized this was the first time he had thought about his relatives in a while and found that he had nothing but pity for them. A freak indeed. Well, if a freak was a person who had good friends, then Harry would rather be a freak than someone akin to his cousin. 

Harry silently laughed at the word. _Freak._

He rolled onto his side and closed his eyes, but just before he closed them, he saw Ron asleep in his own bed. A smile alighted Harry's face, thinking back to his first day on the train to Hogwarts. Ron had befriended him. Harry had deliberately chosen not to associate himself with the likes of Draco Malfoy at the time, knowing to trust his judgment as to who would be a true friend and who wouldn't. Now, though, against most odds, Draco had become someone who Harry could respect. Harry realized now his own folly in holding a bias against the Slytherins for so long. While Harry didn't think he could ever call Draco or Snape his friends, he knew they were his allies, and that was a start. 

_Maybe,_ Harry thought, _true friends are a rarity, but being able to rise above evil and choose good... well, that might be even more rare in some cases._

Harry hoped he wasn't so much the hypocrite he sometimes felt he was. When he did look in the mirror, who was truly staring back at him? 


	54. Chapter FiftyFour

A Reflection of Himself, Chapter Fifty-Four Chapter Fifty-Four

Harry was dreaming... 

_The events of his life were mirroring themselves on the calm waters of a static river, for now no water was flowing freely, and this was when he could look at the whole picture and reflect upon how he arrived at this one point. The images were not what they seemed to be, appearing to compose his entire life, for whenever he would try to fit them into his reality, they proved non-superimposable, seeming-only memories of what he once believed to be true. _

Then, the water began to churn and twist, distorting all that once appeared clear. Suddenly, things were no longer understandable, and then he could see the truth in all that confusion: All he once envisioned were nothing more than inverted reflections of reality, and he was no more than one ripple in the river. 

Harry awoke, sweat covering his brow, making his black hair stick to his skin. Even his pajamas felt uncomfortably clingy and damp. Pushing away the bed covers, Harry slipped his feet into his slippers and put on his round glasses. He went to the window and sat on the sill, gazing out on the starry night. 

He wished for some sort of solace in all these unsettling feelings. Was that all he would be in the course of wizardkind? A ripple in the river? Was everything he ever thought to be true just an inversion of reality? 

How he longed for someone to understand. 

His friends were supportive, and there were people who had faced Voldemort and knew his evils, but none of them - no, not a one - were the Boy Who Lived. 

Harry couldn't help but to feel that he had only lived so he could pass quickly before everyone, like a ripple on the water, and serve his purpose of inverting a reality of evil into a reality of good. 

The daylight hours began to stretch, lengthening into warmer days as the first buds of spring started to appear on the trees. Although still on the chilly side, most of the snow had melted and given way to cold rain, which the thawing ground seemed to drink up greedily. March was now the month on everyone's calendars. 

As Harry glanced at each day on the calendar, he realized it was another day passed that left him wondering what developments were going on with Voldemort and his Death Eaters. He felt a near-constant niggling feeling in the back of his mind, which made his stomach do flip-flops and caused his skin to prickle at night. Why was the Dark Lord so silent? Or had he truly decided to no longer call on those who he suspected as traitors? 

During the past several weeks, Draco had grown restless as well. He groaned loudly as he drifted through the halls late at night, never needing to sleep. The noises he made unnerved the students who were actually trying to sleep, but he didn't much care about that. He was beginning to regret his decision to ever become a ghost. 

At first, he had tried attending classes and going about his daily life (or afterlife) as if nothing had changed, but he and everyone else knew that was a lie. When the school year ended, where would that leave him? It wasn't as if he were able to continue on and pursue a career after school. 

The small amount of hope he had began to dwindle and fade as he wondered when the next Death Eater meeting would be. He finally came to the conclusion that Voldemort would not be summoning Snape, so Draco decided to pursue his interests elsewhere. He had a whole family of Death Eaters, did he not? 

_Maybe it's time to pay Mum a little visit and ask her to invite Auntie Bellatrix over._

Draco smirked smugly at the ingenuity of his great plan. He had had enough of slumping around the corridors of Hogwarts. 

Malfoy Manor was an unnecessarily large estate for just one person - or even three people when Lucius and Draco had been alive. Narcissa spent her days making herself look beautiful, only to boss around the house elves, telling them what sort of food to prepare and what to clean next in the enormous house. 

After paying visits to his mother over the past few months, Draco had convinced her, though, that Voldemort's cause was not worth fighting for. With the loss of her husband and only son, she had begun to wonder such things herself. Although she came from a Pureblood family and believed that Purebloods were still superior, she was not the type to dirty her hands in blood and guts... not like her sister Bellatrix. 

Narcissa had never particularly cared much for her younger sister, thinking her unlady-like and callous and simply downright vile and rude. Draco, however, had a way with words (just like his last father had had) and convinced Narcissa to invite Bellatrix over to tea and a chat to "catch up." 

So, when Bellatrix appeared at Malfoy Manor not too later thereafter, she had no idea that Draco was a ghost and had therefore conventiently set the whole meeting in motion. He purposefully kept himself invisible and listened to every word the two sisters exchanged. 

While most of the talk was meaningless and boring, Draco smirked when Narcissa sweetly inquired about the latest developments among the ranks. 

"As you can imagine, dear sister, after having lost my husband, I am at a loss. I understand completely that my son was a vile traitor and a waste, but Lucius's loyalty never wavered. He used to inform me of the latest, as I eagerly awaited the day when our side would finally win." She smiled at Bellatrix. 

"Yes, your son was a rather pathetic excuse for a Death Eater, wasn't he?" Bella spat, grinning. "I find it hard to believe that he was even related to us." 

Narcissa bit back the urge to slap her sister. She only nodded, feigning complete and utter agreement. 

"Well," Bellatrix simpered in a sickingly-sweet voice, "my master has asked me to do something _very_ important for him. I feel honored, in fact, that he chose me out of everyone in his ranks." 

"Of course," Narcissa said politely. "You have never failed him. You were one of the few who chose to stay loyal no matter what." 

"That's right," Bellatrix continued, steeling her voice. "And he has chosen me for that exact reason." 

Draco listened to every minute detail of the plans that Voldemort had for Bellatrix. Apparently, she would be playing a very important part in the operation of moving along with the Dark Lord's plans. 

_What a fool you are, Auntie. You have certainly been played._

Hours later, after Bellatrix had left, Draco earnestly thanked his mother and returned to Hogwarts with some very important news. When he went to Dumbledore, the Headmaster asked Draco if he wanted to be the man for the job of taking down Bellatrix, as this would be a very difficult operation to pull off. 

Draco gladly accepted, finally feeling he would be doing something useful. 

April was nearly upon them. Harry continued the DA meetings, relieved and glad to see that he had not scared away all the new recruits after his outburst at that first year Slytherin back in February. Assuming full-responsibility for what he would have to do when the time came (and everyone knew what that meant; they just didn't know when to expect it), Harry steeled himself and focused on keeping himself trained to fight. 

He even resumed working with Lupin whenever he had a free moment, just like he had during his third year. If there was someone who could teach him about defending himself, it would be someone like Lupin, someone who had faced the first war. During this time, Harry begrudgingly allowed Dumbledore to show him more memories of the first war, as the old headmaster insisted that it was necessary. 

All the while, Harry could feel the pressure building. His scar always tingled and sometimes hurt with white hot bursts of pain, but those times were rarer and rarer, and Harry wondered if he had improved his ability enough to keep Voldemort out of his mind or if Voldemort was purposefully hiding his feelings from Harry, yet another plan of deceit to keep the good guys in the dark. Harry did not even know about what Draco had told Dumbledore. Why Dumbledore had chosen to keep that information a secret was a mystery. 

After having tried (in vain) to push his friends away, Harry now realized that he needed them more than ever. There were times when he felt like they were the only reason he was still sane, could still laugh or smile or tell a joke like a normal seventeen-year-old boy. In times like these, there needed to be some semblance of normalcy, lest those who needed to remain level-headed lost their ability to be just that. 

Finally, April first dawned. That evening, after having trained with Lupin for several hours, Harry was sitting in Lupin's office, enjoying tea and biscuits and talking about nothing in particular. Lupin, Sirius, and he were engaged in what was mounting into an animated conversation about girls, what with Lupin's dating Tonks and Harry's dating Ginny. They were laughing, enjoying the company of good friends and good food, temporarily oblivious to the evils of the world. 

"And d'you remember the one time when we were in our fourth year, Moony," Sirius was saying, "when-" 

He stopped. Very unexpectedly and abrupty. Just like that. 

They waited for Sirius to continue, but he didn't. Lupin placed his tea cup down and stood up from the desk, concern on his face as he approached the portrait. Harry, too, stood up from his chair and was gazing at Sirius. 

"When what, mate?" Lupin ventured, hoping Sirius was just playing around. He knew what day it was, after all. 

Sirius didn't speak. He didn't move, not even to blink. His painted grey eyes were staring lifelessly at Lupin and Harry, and both of them felt a nauseating feeling of forboding washing over them in that instant. 

"C'mon, Sirius... this isn't funny," Lupin insisted, clearly growing worried and also a little angry. He sincerely hoped he had reason to be angry and not worried sick. 

"It's April Fool's Day," Harry said softly, "but that doesn't mean you have to scare us to death, Sirius." Harry frowned, furrowing his eyebrows. Lupin and he were now standing directly in front of the portrait, looking for any sign of movement. 

They waited. And waited. And waited. 

There was no movement. 

Elsewhere... 

The right connections had been made, and everything had already been previously arranged. In the middle of a night on a particularly mild spring day, Bellatrix apparated to the Ministry of Magic, an invisibility cloak over her to ensure her blending in. The place was deserted, and the one guard left standing outside the Department of Mysteries was a fellow Death Eater. 

Bellatrix approached him effortlessly and whispered her salutations in his ear. He grinned maliciously and conveniently entered a place that few had ever laid eyes on, granting her full access to whatever her evil, little heart desired. 

Once inside, Bellatrix found herself retracing her steps from nearly two years ago, intrigued by the many strange mysteries that lay within the chamber. She itched to explore every room, but she knew she had been given explicit orders from her master to retrieve a sacred, secret weapon - a very ancient oddity that few understood the mechanisms of its working. 

Bella did not know that Ghost Draco was in her midst. She foolishly entered the incorrect room and was immediately distracted by its contents. Gazing fixedly at the innumerable Time Turners it contained, her mouth slightly agape, she murmured to herself, "Surely my master wouldn't mind a little side trip. I am, after all, taking a big risk for him by doing this favor for him." 

Smirking to herself, she reached tentatively toward once of the Time Turners, but within an inch of touching it, her hand was repelled by a strong magical barrier. The stinging sensation it left on her hand raked through her nerves, right up her arm, and straight to her brain, and she felt like her hair was standing on end. 

"Damn it," she hissed, clearly annoyed, shaking her stinging hand. 

She was no longer enjoying herself and so turned and left that room. Realizing that the Ministry had placed extra spells on the contents of the Department of Mysteries, she scowled deeply, wondering if her plight would be as easy as she had originally thought. 

In the shadows, Draco kept himself nearly transparent and followed her to a very familiar room. In the middle on a dais stood an old archway with the infamous tattered veil hanging from it. Bellatrix had never looked at it so closely before. Last time she had been here, there had been a lot more people around, and hexes had been flying through the air. 

She thought she heard voices, but she couldn't understand what they were saying. All she needed to do was remove the veil from the archway and take it to her master... simple enough, right? 

She grinned evilly, recalling how her curse had sent her cousin, Sirius Black, through that very veil two years ago. 

"He always was annoying," she murmured. "He got what he deserved in the end of his pathetic life." 

Now, standing next to the veil, Bellatrix felt a chill run over her and straight through her. Momentarily alarmed, faint voices stirring somewhere beyond in the depths of black, torn fabric, she jumped away from the shroud. Was this just another ward meant to repel her? 

She shook her head. _This is utterly ridiculous! I'm not afraid of a little wind or a couple of whispery voices. I survived Azkaban, after all! What is a silly, little piece of cloth?_

Suddenly, a great force was pushing against her, and she heard an aggressive voice bellow, "No, you'll get what you deserve in your end, dearest Auntie!" 

She fought hard against the impending force, unable to see what was the source of it. Brandishing her wand, she tried to send a hex in the direction of the strange force, but it was quickly overpowering her. 

The last thing Bellatrix Black Lestrange saw before she fell through the veil was Draco's infuriated, pale face, back from beyond the grave to haunt her for the rest of her miserable existence in a world somewhere else. 

Draco had materialized himself enough to push her through and stop himself just in time before going through the veil as well. Flying over the top of the archway, he felt a surge of triumph pulsing through his ghostly veins. 

"Good bye, Auntie," he said in a mockingly-sweet voice. 


	55. Chapter FiftyFive

Chapter Fifty-Five

Draco would have fallen over from sheer shock had he been material. He was not prepared in the least for what happened within seconds of Bellatrix falling through the veil. He thought his eyes to be deceiving him for sure. Floating back, wordless, from the dais, Draco was awestruck. 

From within the depths of darkness surrounding the veil emerged the form of a tall, ragged man. His long, black hair was wild, and his face was gaunt and stunned. 

"Y- you!" Draco gasped, her eyes overly large. 

The man standing on the dais extended his arms, feeling like a curse had been lifted from him. Staring down at his hands, he laughed, barklike and full of insane mirth. 

"Is it true... ? Tell me this isn't a dream," he whispered in awe. 

"If I were alive, I'd ask you to pinch me," Draco said. 

Grey eyes met grey eyes. "What happened?" the man asked, his voice croaking as if he were parched. 

"I pushed her through the veil... my aunt Bellatrix," Draco explained. "She was gloating about having sent you-" 

"Through the veil," the man said grimly, suddenly realizing how tired, hungry, and thirty he felt. It was as if all the time he had spent away from the world of the living had caught up with him. "I don't understand how, but... it seems like some sort of trade off. She sent me through this strange veil," he gestured toward the archway and took a couple steps away from it, not wanting to be near it any longer than necessary. "Now she went through it. Maybe it freed me in exchange for her." 

Draco was speechless. "I guess. Well, uh... now what?" He honestly didn't know what to do next. 

"We must leave immediately," the man suddenly ground out. "If the Ministry finds out I'm in here..." He didn't even want to finish that thought. 

"All right, just follow me... Sirius Black." Draco smirked, shaking his head. He supposed that stranger things had been known to happen, but as the ghost and the ex-sort-of-dead man made it out of the confines of the Ministry of Magic, he couldn't think of anything. 

When they reached the point where Bellatrix had entered, Sirius and Draco could see the Death Eater guard. 

"Do you have your wand?" Draco whispered. 

"Yeah, d'you want me to take him down?" Sirius asked. "I'd gladly do so." He regarded the dark figure eagerly. 

"No, wait," Draco hissed. "Probably not a good idea, what with you still being a wanted man and all... I've got a better idea." 

A mischievous, malicious grin spreading across his ghostly face, Draco sped away from the shadows at an alarming rate, taking the guard by surprise. The man didn't have any time to react as the ghostly figure moved menacingly toward him and right through him. The utter chill of feeling a spirit move through a living person is not a pleasant one. For a moment, the man thought he had been stunned or frozen, but once Draco was on the other side of him, he soon enough regained his composure and whirled around, facing Draco. He went for his wand, holding it up shakily. 

"Who- who are you?" the man stuttered, unable to recognize Draco in the darkness. "Wh- what do you want?" 

Draco replied in an echoey voice that didn't sound like his own, "It doesn't matter who I am. You would do wise to leave now, before I do something truly frightening to you." 

Giving the man no indication that he had any idea about Death Eaters or Voldemort, Draco wanted to keep his identity a secret. It wouldn't do for Voldemort to find out that he was a ghost and for Draco to lose the advantage he held over the Dark Lord's pale head. 

The man was a rather pathetic excuse for a Death Eater, nodding and babbling like an idiot as he began to run away. When he was out of sight, Draco, satisfied with his work, motioned for Sirius to followed him. 

"Good job," Sirius said, impressed. 

"Thanks," Draco replied smugly. "Let's go." 

They apparated to the edge of the Forbidden Forest, and from that point, Sirius gazed longingly at Hogwarts in the distance. His heart ached to stroll right up to the front doors, enter, find Harry immediately, and pull him into a bone-crushing embrace... something he had been wishing to have the ability to do for a long time. 

"You'd better wait here," Draco said. "Besides, the wards are insanely strong around the castle now, and ghosts are one of the few types of creatures able to penetrate them without problems." 

"Are you going to get Harry?" Sirius asked rather desperately. 

Draco rolled his eyes. "I suppose... eventually," he said sarcastically. "I thought it more important, however, to inform Dumbledore first of my victory." 

"Well, of course, but don't forget to tell Harry... and Remus. Last thing I knew, I was talking with them through my portrait. They're probably worried sick." 

"How sweet," Draco muttered, rolling his eyes. 

Annoyed, Sirius barked, "Well? Don't you have somewhere to be and someone to see? Get going!" 

"Yeah, yeah," groused Draco. "So ungrateful." 

Sirius growled at him, much like a dog, but Draco ignored him and headed for the castle. While anxiously awaiting Draco's return, or anyone to come back for that matter, Sirius began to pace. Finally, heaving a long, drawn-out sigh, he transformed into his dog form and began running the length of the edge of the forest. He wondered if he should take his chances in trying to get through the wards as Padfoot. Feeling free for the first time in ages, Sirius bounded toward the boundary and was immediately hit with an unpleasant sensation that he was hitting a solid rock wall. He growled and continued to pace. 

Eventually, he had tired himself out and was beginning to wonder when and if anyone would return for him. Whimpering, Sirius sat down and gazed at the castle. He wanted to be truly free and not have to be forced to hide out. He wished to come and go as he pleased, to finally be a constant figure in Harry's life. 

With his dog eyes, he could see better in the night than if he were human, and he thought he now saw three solid figures and one translucent figure approaching rather hastily from the castle. Standing up and resuming his pacing, Padfoot barked happily. When the four figures came close enough, Sirius could see that they were indeed Harry, Lupin, Dumbledore, and Draco. 

Dumbledore murmured a couple of incomprehensible words that let down the wards long enough for them to pass through. Without thinking, Padfoot bounded toward Harry, knocking the boy over. The great black dog was licking his face affectionately, non-stop, and Harry was laughing, patting the dog and scratching him behind his ears. Realizing that he would probably be able to better communicate with them, Sirius turned back into his human form, now embracing Harry like he would never let go. 

"I can't believe-" Harry was saying in between breaths. "You're... you're really back, Sirius. I never thought in a million years-" 

"I know, Harry... Trust me, I know," Sirius said sincerely. "There wasn't a day that passed that I didn't long to jump out of the blasted portrait and be a man again, walking among my friends." Here, he smiled at Dumbledore and Lupin. Finally releasing Harry, Sirius clamped his hand firmly and affectionately on Lupin's arm. "It's so good to be back." 

Lupin seemed to be at a loss for words, but on his face was a smile that couldn't have said more exactly how happy he was. Dumbledore's eyes were twinkling in the moonlight. "I had a hard time believing it myself," he mused. "I figured I had to come out here with you all and see for myself if what Draco told me was really true. It's so good to have you truly back, my boy." 

"Thank you, sir," Sirius replied. Gesturing toward Draco, he added, "But I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for this brave young man." 

For once in his life/afterlife, Draco felt modest. If a ghost could blush, he would have. "Just doing my job," he said, without a trace of smugness in his tone, which really surprised Harry. 

"Thanks, Draco," Harry told the ghost. He had said the words so fast, he hadn't realized he had called Draco by his given name. 

"Well, that's a first... on two accounts, Pot- er, Harry," Draco said with a hint of sarcasm. "Thanking me _and_ saying my first name. Is the world ending or something?" 

Harry frowned at the last sentence. "Maybe it is," he murmured. 

"Nonsense, Harry," Sirius insisted firmly, turning the boy to face him squarely in the face. "Listen, we'll all be there with you on that day, don't you even doubt it." 

"But, Sirius," Harry protested, "you just came back. I don't want to lose you again..." 

"If you think I'm gonna spend my days hiding like some sort of bloody coward, you're wrong, Harry," Sirius stated with growing anger in his voice. "I'm not going to live my life like some sort of caged animal." Here, he couldn't help but to glance over at Dumbledore. 

"Nobody wants you to, either," Dumbledore mildly interjected, "but, as I'm quite sure you realize, Sirius, you are still a wanted man. Your childhood home is no longer safe for habitation, but it would be strongly advisable for you to remain hidden." 

"Where?" Sirius asked, not liking the idea, but feeling that he may have no choice. After all, if he wanted to be able to be free (as much as a wanted man could), he would have to hide. 

"What about the Shrieking Shack?" Lupin suddenly suggested. "No one in their right mind would go in there." 

"Hmmm," Dumbledore said, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "that seems as good an idea as any. What do you say, Sirius?" 

"I guess so," Sirius mumbled, not too thrilled by a long shot. "There is that secret passageway to Hogwarts and all." 

"I'm afraid it's been magically sealed off with wards ever since it was no longer safe for the students to visit Hogsmeade," Dumbledore explained. 

Sirius frowned. "Well, I don't suppose an exception could be made?" 

"That is possible," Dumbledore confirmed. "Very well, but the wards will only drop for you, Sirius." He looked sternly at Harry as he said this. "I strongly suggest you only use the passageway when absolutely necessary, however." 

"Of course." 

"What's he supposed to do there all day?" Harry asked in a somewhat accusatory manner. "He'll be bored out of his mind. And what's he supposed to eat? Surely not rats!" Harry wrinkled his nose, thinking back to his fourth year when Sirius was on the run and had been living off rats and such similar disgusting vermin. Here, Draco sent a questioning, grossed-out look at Harry. 

"We can supply Sirius with some food from Hogwarts and make arrangements for a house elf to drop off more food whenever it runs low," Dumbledore explained patiently. "As for what you do in your time there, Sirius, that is up to you." 

Sirius scowled deeply, not too happy about the situation. It seemed like he would be confined once again. No matter where he went, he felt like a prisoner (or was a prisoner) - his childhood home, Azkaban, hiding in caves, back at Grimmauld Place again, beyond the veil, and now this. "I'll manage," was all he said. 

"I've some games you can borrow," Harry suggested. 

"I could let you borrow some of my books," Lupin added. 

Sirius's scowl lessened, realizing that his friends were only trying to help. "That would be nice. Thanks." 

Deciding that he had nothing more to offer to the conversation, Draco headed back to the castle before them, as he had grown uncomfortable in the presence of four Gryffindors who obviously knew what true friendship felt like. He had not really known such a thing in his life, and now, forever forced to live as a ghost, he felt like he was being forced to live vicariously through the full lives of others. 

Dumbledore made the necessary arrangements with the house elves and placed enough food to get Sirius through the week in a bag and shrunk it down. The books and games were also shrunk down. Everything was brought back outside to Sirius. The wards were dropped, allowing Sirius entry onto the grounds, but only for him to head for the Whomping Willow and into hiding. When they reached that spot, the tree was immobilized by touching the correct notch on the correct root. 

"I want to go with you," Harry blurted out. 

"Harry," Dumbledore said firmly, yet sadly. "You know you cannot leave the grounds. It's too dangerous." 

"I'm allowed to leave for Order meetings," Harry pointed out, annoyed. 

"That is the only exception that can be made. I'm sorry, my boy. I'm afraid you must say your good byes here." 

Harry was too angry at Dumbledore to look at him. Taking a couple of steps toward Sirius, Harry murmured, "I wish you could stay here with us." 

"So do I, Harry," Sirius agreed. "Things are not so easy, though. Maybe soon, when all this is over, I'll finally be a free man, and not just me, but no one will have to live their lives hiding anymore." 

Harry nodded solemnly. "I'll see you soon, then." 

"I won't be far away, Harry, not at all." 

"I wish you had your mirror. I wish I hadn't broken mine." 

"Broken?" 

"Last year... I stupidly threw it into my trunk. I was so angry at the world, Sirius. You- you have no idea." His words were coming out shaky as his body was shaking. 

Sirius immediately went to Harry and placed his arms around him. "Forget all that, Harry. It's over now. It's in the past. What happened, happened. You do yourself no good in blaming yourself or anyone for what happened to me two years ago. I chose to come to the Department of Mysteries, against everyone's approval. I would do anything, all over again, even die, if it meant fighting alongside you." 

"Don't-" Harry began. 

Sirius shushed him and then released him. With the light of the moon shining on his eyes, Sirius looked a desperate, lost man. Harry couldn't place the look on his godfather's face as he turned and went toward the opening. Dumbledore gently held Harry back as he watched the backs of Sirius and Lupin disappear into the ground. 

"It's not fair," he found himself whispering. 

"Few things are," Dumbledore murmured. "You know this, Harry." 

Yanking himself away from Dumbledore's grip, Harry said harshly, "I know, but that doesn't change how I feel." 

"You should be happy that Sirius is back." 

"I am," Harry continued, dropping his tone, "but I'm not happy that his situation hasn't changed. Maybe he had more freedom in moving through those portraits in the castle than he does now." 

"Nonsense, Harry. He was still trapped then." 

_Trapped,_ Harry thought. _Just like us all._


	56. Chapter FiftySix

Chapter Fifty-Six

Sirius spent his days slumping around the insides of the Shrieking Shack, only to be occasionally visited by Lupin, for whom Dumbledore granted access to the tunnel only on a couple of occasions. It was surprising to both Sirius and Lupin that the old headmaster had actually changed his mind enough to allow such a thing, especially after how clear he had made his point that only Sirius was to be granted access to the passageway, and even then, only when what Dumbledore deemed was "absolutely necessary." 

As the days of spring continued to pass, he longed more and more to escape. After about two weeks of confinement, Sirius, not caring if it was against Dumbledore's wishes, turned into Padfoot and began wandering the streets of Hogsmeade after dark. 

As the great black dog trotted down the street, he kept himself one with the shadows. The streets were desolate and deserted at this time of night. Every so often, Sirius could hear a voice here or there of someone shouting to another, usually shopkeepers wishing each other a good night. One by one, the lights went out in the shops, and people retired for the day. Idly, Sirius wandered down the street to the shady side of town, hoping to perhaps catch a glimpse of something entertaining, like someone getting thrown out of a pub. 

And speaking of pubs, there was the Hog's Head looming off in the distance. The dim glow of candlelight eerily shone through its front door's tiny, filthy window, casting long shadows onto the street outside. Cautiously nearing the pub, Padfoot raised his ears and listened attentively for interesting conversation. The bartender, none other than Dumbledore's brother, Aberforth, was keeping quiet, not wanting to raise suspicion as he went about innocently polishing glassware. 

A loud thud emitted from the pub, causing Padfoot to jump back in surprise, but luckily (for him), he didn't bark. The sound came from a large, angry man who had just lost a game of wizard cards to his younger brother. He had pounded his massive fist of clenched hairy-knuckled fingers onto the worn wooden table and was now glaring across the small distance between himself and his slightly unnerved brother. 

"'Twas just a lil game, Dolph-" the younger brother murmured. 

"Don't say my name in public, you bloody fool," the one named Dolph hissed at his brother, aggressively grabbing him by the collar of his shirt. When his actions rose suspicion from others in the shady pub, Dolph released the other man, and they both slumped back down into their seats. 

"Any ideas wha' happened to her?" the brother asked quietly. 

"Don' know. Not that I miss her much." Dolph took a deep swig of his liquor and wiped the dribble from his unshaven chin on his sleeve. 

"He's mad, ya know," the younger one pointed out plainly. 

"No kiddin'?" Dolph ventured sarcastically, his speech evidently slurred. 

Sirius quickly noticed that both men's voices were slurred with drunkenness, and with his acute dog hearing, he was able to pick up on a lot more of the conversation than any human could. The name Dolph, combined with his accent, and with the fact that they were discussing a woman's odd circumstances... plus the mysterious "he"... well, putting the pieces of the puzzle together, Sirius knew he was listening in on a conversation between none other than Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange. They were probably under Polyjuice or had transfigured some of their physical attributes just enough not to be recognized, but from behind the bar, even Aberforth was growing suspicious. 

"When will be the next time?" the younger brother cryptically asked. 

"Shut it, you git," Dolph murmured, growing ever more aggravated with his brother. "Prolly a coupla weeks." 

"You think he'll call Sn-" 

"Didn' I already tell you to shut it?" Dolph hissed maliciously, spit flying from his mouth and hitting Rabastan in the face. 

Disgusted, Rabastan wiped the spittle from his cheek and glared at his older brother. "Well, all I'm sayin' is he's growin' impatient. Maybe somethin' useful'll come outta it." 

Rodolphus rolled his dark eyes. "Maybe, but I doubt it." 

The sudden shuffling of chairs and then heavy footsteps toward the door signified Sirius to move away just in time as the oaken door swung open into the cool spring night air. Out stepped two dark figures, and from his vantage point behind some barrels, Sirius watched their retreating backs. Emitting a very low growl, his fur bristled all along his back, down his tail. He wondered what was stopping him from taking off after those two Death Eaters and biting them to pieces. 

The thought of Harry: that is what kept him sitting there. He knew that to act recklessly and foolishly at a time like this would not do anyone any small amount of good. 

_Knowing my luck, I would wind up dead before sunrise, but not before being used as bait to lure Harry to his potential doom. I just escaped from beyond the veil... Damn it... I just can't risk it. The price everyone would pay would be too high._

Feeling worthless and defeated, Sirius returned to the Shrieking Shack. The moment he was within the safe confines of the rickety house, he turned back into his human form and began pacing the room. His tired, bloodshot eyes came to rest on the portal in the floor that led to the Whomping Willow. His vision shifted nervously back and forth as his eyes wildly darted, as he restlessly paced. Then, he saw his reflection in a broken, dirty mirror. 

Going to the mirror, Sirius regarded himself closely, taking in his umkempt appearance, shaking his head at how he had let himself go. Since his return, he had the beginnings of a full beard, and his long hair was plain filthy and uncombed. Having not changed his clothes or taken a bath, he knew he must have smelled awful. Grimacing at the rather pathetic way his torn garments hung loosely off his frail, thin form, he muttered to himself, "What happened to you? You wanna do something useful for once for the Order? Well, maybe Dumbledore'll hate me for it, but I need to tell him what I just saw. I don't care if I'll be putting myself at risk. There's already too much at risk here." 

Scowling, Sirius couldn't believe he had just spent the past minute talking to his reflection. Turning his back on himself, he made for the secret passageway and thread through the damp bowels of the earth toward Hogwarts. 

After a few minutes in the cramped, hot confines of the passageway, Sirius emerged at the base of the Whomping Willow, which was moving frantically, swinging its branches in all directions, including at Sirius. He dodged a leafy branch just in time, avoiding a face full of scratches. Now looking at the castle, Sirius sighed, wondering if he would be able to enter. 

He began to make his way toward the front doors, deciding to try his luck, but then a thought occurred to him. He recalled using an almost hidden back door that led down a narrow stairway to the dungeons. He had utilized it many times as a student, especially when James, Peter, and he would sneak out in the middle of the night to romp around the grounds in their animagus forms with a transformed Lupin. 

Now moving quietly and swiftly along the wall of the castle, Sirius prodded his wand along the stones, also running his free hand along them, searching for that entrance. Finally, he found it. Although overgrown with vines and weeds, Sirius knew it was a charm purposefully placed on the door that he assumed was meant to be solely used as an emergency exit. Well, this time, it was an emergency entrance. 

Sliding inconspicuously into the interior, Sirius made sure the door was closed behind him before descending the stairs in front of him. When he had nearly reached the bottom, he turned into Padfoot, knowing that it would be entirely too foolish to walk through the corridors of Hogwarts in his human form. Trotting through the hallway, he tried to stay hidden in the shadows, which wasn't too difficult, considering he was in the dungeons and the late hour. He nearly groaned aloud, though, when his doggy eyes noticed a dark figure looming ahead. 

_Damn, it's Snape. Doesn't he have anything better to do than prowl the halls at night?_

Sirius stopped moving, hoping to blend in well enough, but Snape wasn't so easily fooled. He had his wand tip lit with _Lumos,_ apparently looking for students who were out past curfew. He almost immediately noticed the black dog that was Sirius. 

Stopping a few feet from the dog, Snape sneered down at him, "Well, well, what have we here? A stray mutt that's somehow wandered into Hogwarts, seeking shelter and food?" 

Answering his own question mentally, Sirius thought, _I guess not._

Releasing a low, menacing growl at Snape, Sirius hoped his old school nemesis would back off. Snape, however, had no intention of doing so. Grabbing Sirius by the scruff of his neck, he demanded, "You're coming with me." 

Sirius tried to snap at Snape, but wondered what good it would really do to anger the indignant man. Struggling free of Snape's grip, he reluctantly followed him down the hall and into what he assumed were his quarters. Once the door was closed, Snape said in false politeness, "You may turn back into your equally distasteful human counterpart now." 

With one last growl, Sirius transformed, rubbing his neck. "Did you have to be so rough?" he complained, glaring at Snape. 

Snape ignored his question and went straight to asking his own. "What are you doing here, Black?" 

"I came to see Dumbledore," Sirius replied, losing his temper, "and I most certainly don't have to answer to _you._" 

Too tired to fully argue with Sirius, Snape inquired, "What has happened?" 

"I overheard Rodolphus and Rabastan Lestrange in the Hog's Head. They were talking about Bellatrix's disappearance, Voldemort's anger-" 

"Don't say the Dark Lord's name!" Snape hissed without hesitation. 

"Oh, get over it already," Sirius grumbled. "That's the bloody creature's name. Anyway, my point is that they think the next meeting will be in a couple of weeks, and they have a feeling you may be summoned." 

Snape felt his stomach lurch. "Can you be sure?" he asked softly, turning paler than usual, his eyes glinting strangely. 

"Yes. They were a bit too loose with the tongue because they were drinking, and even though anyone else who's not familiar with the details of the Death Eaters wouldn't have known what they were talking about, I'd say it was pretty obvious." 

Snape nodded. "Then I can see why you needed to see Dumbledore. He must know right away." 

Noticing the faraway look in Snape's eyes, Sirius frowned. "Hey, are you okay?" he asked carefully. 

"Hardly. Let's go." 

Snape used Floo powder to access Dumbledore's office, and together, they stepped through. Surprised to see Sirius, Dumbledore was still kind and genial, offering them both seats. 

"So, what brings you two here at this particularly late hour?" Dumbledore asked. 

"I have some important information, sir," Sirius explained. 

"And how, may I ask, did you find out this information?" Dumbledore inquired. 

"I was, uh... walking through the streets as Padfoot," Sirius said a bit sheepishly, avoiding the Headmaster's eyes. 

"Sirius," Dumbledore said in a lecturing tone, "you know better. Do you have any idea what you're risking?" 

"That's not the point!" Sirius exclaimed, annoyed. "Look, I'm tired of just sitting back and letting everyone else do something useful for the Order... for our cause. I just spent two years in another realm, locked in a portrait, unable to help at all. I'm not going to relive two years ago... being locked up like a prisoner." 

"But you miss the point, Sirius," Dumbledore explained in an irritatingly patient voice. "By leaving so recklessly, you risk your life just like you did two years ago." 

"I don't care," Sirius ground out. 

"Typical Gryffindor behavior," muttered Snape. 

Ignoring Snape, Sirius continued, "Harry told me you realized the wrong of your ways, sir. He told me you felt horrible for keeping both him and me locked up, trying to keep us safe, but not allowing us to be happy." 

Dumbledore sighed. "That is true, my boy, but I still have a right to worry." 

"Don't," Sirius insisted. 

"That is what I always try to tell him," Snape added, "but he insists on wasting his time worrying." 

"Enough of this," Dumbledore said, for once growing irritated. "What did you have to tell me, Sirius?" 

Sirius explained what he had overheard in the Hog's Head. Dumbledore nodded, murmuring, "Aberforth did inform me a couple hours ago that there had been two suspicious characters in his pub earlier this evening. He, unfortunately, didn't hear nearly as much as you did, Sirius. For what you have told me, I am very glad and very grateful. It may come in use." 

Dumbledore's piercing eyes were now resting on Snape, who shifted uncomfortably in his chair. "What is it, sir?" he asked softly. 

"Are you prepared to be summoned, Severus?" Dumbledore asked plainly. 

"What do you mean?" 

"Surely you remember Voldemort's request the last time he saw you." 

"Yes, he asked that I bring the key to Mr. Potter's and your destruction," Snape whispered hoarsely. "What am I to tell him?" 

For once in his life, Snape seemed at a loss for thoughts and ideas. A large part of him interiorly had never fully recovered from the attack he had suffered months earlier at the hands of Voldemort's followers and Voldemort's demands. "Surely he must have a plan to attack," Dumbledore said in an oddly calm voice. "We must outsmart him." 

"You mean, make him come to us on our terms," Snape added, understanding the direction Dumbledore was taking. 

"Exactly." 

Both Sirius and Snape were regarding Dumbledore carefully, seeing the steel determination in his blue eyes. Every wrinkle seemed so rigid and hard, clearly defined with the length of his years. When Sirius had come to Dumbledore with this information, he had not thought it would have been this useful, but now he had to admit a small victory to himself. 

He couldn't resist smirking a little smugly at Snape, saying, "Am I finally doing something _useful_ for the Order?" 

Snape groaned. "I will not dignify that question with a response, Black." 

"I guess that means yes," Sirius said. 

From across the desk, Dumbledore's expression softened as he watched the two men in front of him. Never had he imagined the day when they would actually be civil toward one another, let alone perhaps be able to joke, albeit sarcastically. Thinking back to nearly three years prior, Dumbledore remembered how he had practically forced them to shake hands, recalling the looks of equal loathing on each of their faces. Seeing them now, he was proud. 


	57. Chapter FiftySeven

Chapter Fifty-Seven

The days of spring stretched themselves longer and longer as the amount of daylight grew, and even though there was plenty of rain, there was also plenty of sunshine, making for an especially beautiful season. As April neared its end, the fifth and seventh year students began preparing for their respective O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. examinations, spending much of their time studying around the lake under the shadow of trees. 

Harry tried to concentrate on the Charms text that was open across his lap, the sun shining down between the branches onto the words. He kept glancing off in the distance towards Hogsmeade, though, wondering what Sirius was doing right at the moment. He had been informed of Sirius's findings a few days prior, but had come to find them out secondhand through Dumbledore. When he had first heard of Sirius's visit to Hogwarts, he had been enraged. 

"But why didn't you tell me right away?" he had insisted, balling his fists, his face turning red with anger. "He was right here, and you didn't think to come get me?" 

Dumbledore had sighed at Harry's tone. "I am sorry, my boy, but you must realize the risk of Sirius's even being in the castle in the first place, let alone drawing out his time here further by inviting you into the room. I fear you two would have wound up spending more time together than would have been safe." 

Harry had frowned deeply. "Rubbish. What d'you think he's doing all day and night in that deserted dump? He's probably bored out of his mind, not to mention lonely." 

At that moment, Harry had slumped into one of the chairs in Dumbledore's office and had begun rubbing his temples. Dumbledore had taken the seat next to him and had murmured, "With your triumph in the near future, Harry, this will all be over. Sirius will be free when Peter Pettigrew is brought in to the Ministry. You will finally be able to live your live without the burden you have had to bear for so long." 

Harry had not fully believed those words. "Maybe. And what of you, sir?" His green eyes had probed Dumbledore's blue ones, searching for some hidden meaning there. 

"Only time will tell." 

Now, sitting by the lake, not too far removed from his friends, and not at all removed from his thoughts on the looming doom of the war, Harry found himself once again frowning over Dumbledore's cryptic messages. 

_Only time will tell._

Harry considered this. 

_I've been waiting for what feels like an eternity. Isn't it time that time answered?_

The next evening, time answered. Harry awoke with severe pain shooting straight through his scar and into his head. Grabbing his head, he tried to force the feeling away, but it was too physical to be countered. His scar had been prickling most of the day, but now, this was too much. 

Avoiding the stares of other students, Harry returned to the castle and went straight to Dumbledore. 

"When did this start?" the Headmaster inquired. 

"Just a few minutes ago," Harry said between clenched teeth. 

"I think the time has come," Dumbledore stated gravely, awfully sure that Snape was finally being summoned. "Two drunken men were right." 

Harry didn't have a chance to ask before passing out from the sheer intensity of the excruciating pain. 

While in the middle of grading essays, Snape felt his Dark Mark burn in a way it hadn't since Voldemort's return nearly three years ago. Taking a deep breath, trying to instill calm in himself, he closed up his office and went to his quarters to fetch his robe and mask. Leaving through the door Sirius had entered a few nights previously, Snape left Hogwarts and made his way across the grounds, trying to remember everything Dumbledore and he had discussed regarding bringing Voldemort to them on their own terms. 

As he left the grounds and disapparated, he wondered if his words would be convincing. When he reappeared at the destination to which he was being summoned, Snape gauged his surroundings. Instead of being in the middle of a dark forest or a cavern, they were gathered inside none other than the infamous Riddle house, where Voldemort, then just a teenager by the name of Tom Riddle, had murdered his father and grandparents. 

Around the room, Death Eaters were lining the walls, almost hidden in the shadows of the dimly illuminated room. Instead of the usual murmurings and occasional harsh laughs, they were all deadly silent. Standing like statues, they did not move, did not speak, and barely seemed to breathe. As Snape walked toward his place in the circle, he could feel the air crawling over his skin, making him shiver with anticipation and forboding. 

Wondering if his slight flinch had been noticed, Snape took his place among the ranks. Now was not a time for messing up everything Dumbledore and he had worked so hard for. Before Snape had a moment to think another thought, Lord Voldemort stepped into the center of the circle, seemingly forming out of nothingness as his black robe emerged from the blackness encircling the room. 

"Greetings, my minions," he murmured, his hood drawn over his pallid face, making only his crimson eyes visible. 

No one said anything, as to even simply reply to Voldemort in greeting was grounds for punishment with the Cruciatus or other such dreadful, painful curses. 

"Things are going well," Voldemort continued, "and we are well on our way to victory, many thanks to the loyalty of many of you. However, some have disappointed. Bellatrix has gone mysteriously missing after I gave her a most important task, and if it has led to her death, which I am quite sure it has, since I have heard nothing of her whereabouts and can _feel_ nothing of her presence, then she deserved what she got in the end. Anyone who fails to do my bidding deserves nothing short of death." He hissed the last word venomously, as if savoring its juicy flavor. 

Voldemort began to lazily walk the inner perimeter of the circle of Death Eaters, continuing on still with his no doubt practiced speech. "Dumbledore is weakened. If we are to strike, the time of fruition is drawing near. If the old man truly thinks that fool of a little boy, Harry Potter, can defeat the likes of me, he will be gravely mistaken." He laughed a terrible, high-pitched shriek. 

Snape felt his insides jolt at the very sound of it, and he wondered what had happened to him. Was he going soft, or had he already done so? By opening up to people like Harry Potter, Remus Lupin, and even Sirius Black over the past couple of years, had he lost his ability to keep his mind a blank canvas in front of the Dark Lord? Quickly wiping the slate clean, Snape stared impassively on. 

Now, the inevitable happened. Voldemort addressed Snape, and Snape stepped forward. "Welcome, Severus. Now, surely you remember what I asked of you last time I saw you, correct?" Voldemort gave Snape a shrewd, calculating look, which prompted him to nod slightly. 

"Answer me with speech," Voldemort demanded. 

"Yes, Master," Snape replied automatically. 

"Good," Voldemort hissed. "Well, then, what have you to tell me?" 

"The wards around Hogwarts grow weaker as Dumbledore grows weaker, my lord. You are right, of course, in saying that the old fool of a man is growing ever weaker. He is old and worn out and surely incapable of fighting someone as brilliant and powerful as you. If you attack the school forthrightly, you would strike at the heart of the place where Dumbledore always thought his students and he would be protected. Harry Potter would not stand a chance if you killed the old man first." 

"Attack Hogwarts?" Voldemort inquired smoothly. "The idea has much merit, mostly because I had already been thinking along those exact same lines. Are you telling me, then, that if I do away with Dumbledore, Potter's death will be child's play?" 

"Yes, Master," Snape replied. 

Regarding Snape skeptically, Voldemort legilimized his mind. Already arranged scenes feigned by Dumbledore and Snape played out for the Dark Lord, ones where Dumbledore admitted his weakness and wondered if he could survive much longer. In the memories, Dumbledore was telling Snape that it he died, he feared greatly for Harry Potter's life, thinking the boy to be unprepared to face Voldemort. Also, Dumbledore expressed his greatest fear of Hogwarts being attacked. 

"Excellent," Voldemort hissed, sounding rather pleased. "You have... done well, Severus. When shall we arrange for this little battle to take place?" 

Snape replied evenly, "How about on the eve of the very day Potter lost his pathetic godfather two years ago? He has been deeply wounded and affected ever since that day. The loss of Dumbledore would be appropriate, wouldn't you say, my lord?" 

"Indeed, I do," Voldemort agreed. "I like your idea very much. Well done. You have proven your loyalties to me, and I can assure you, after this battle, you will be greatly rewarded." 

Snape bowed, kissed the hem of Voldemort's robe, and stepped back into the ranks. The rest of the meeting went over well, now that Voldemort seemed truly pleased that he had the information he needed to ensure the endings of both Albus Dumbledore and Harry Potter. 

After the Death Eater meeting ended, Snape returned to Hogwarts to report to Dumbledore. By this time, the hour had grown very late, so practically everyone was asleep in the castle. Going to the Headmaster's office, Snape gave the gorgoyle the password and entered, feeling drained and wondering if he had truly managed to trick the Dark Lord. 

"Ah, Severus," Dumbledore greeted him, "I'm relieved to see that you are all right. I trust everything went according to plan, then?" 

Snape took a seat and nodded. "So it would seem, although I have a hard time believing the Dark Lord is not lying to me." 

Dumbledore was no fool. "Yes, yes, there is that to consider. Well, perhaps you ought to tell me exactly everything that was exchanged between the two of you." 

"Very well," sighed Snape. He then went through the details of the conversation he had had with Voldemort and everything that was said, how the attack was to be at Hogwarts, how Dumbledore would need to be sacrificed first, and then Harry. 

Dumbledore seemed oddly pleased. 

"If you may excuse me for saying so, sir," Snape said with a trace of concern in his voice, "what makes you think this is the best plan? Everything about it seems far too risky." 

Not wanting to voice his thoughts that Dumbledore could indeed be killed, Snape kept them silent and hidden in the deepest recesses of his multi-layered mind, afraid that voicing them would make them real. 

"There is always a risk involved," Dumbledore said wisely. "All the proper arrangements will be made. The moment the attack strikes and the wards are broken, an alarm will sound throughout the school, which will alert everyone to find the nearest painting and touch it. Every painting within this castle and every tree outside the castle will have been actived into a portkey and will transfer the students safely to an undisclosed location and will only transport students and staff from Hogwarts. They will be chaperoned by many of the staff as well. The members of the Order will also be alerted and will be granted privileges of being able to apparate directly into the castle. Harry and any willing student, such as those in his army, will be able to stay and fight should they wish." 

"But they're just students," Snape protested. 

"Well-trained students, the best ones we have against the Dark Arts, and we will need all the help we can get." 

Not convinced, Snape wished the Headmaster a good night and returned to the dungeons. 

The necessary preparations were made, and the following day, Dumbledore informed everyone during breakfast as to the plan. Several of the students, especially the young ones, looked terrified. Some of them owled their parents, deeply distraught and unnerved by Dumbledore's plan, and soon thereafter, Howlers began arriving. Dumbledore tried to assure the parents that no place was truly safe anymore, but when some of them insisted on removing their children from Hogwarts, Dumbledore and the rest of the staff were left with little choice but to grant their wishes. He only hoped they would be as safe and secure within their own homes as they would have been at school. 

May arrived, and before Harry knew it, the last Quidditch match was being held, between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff. Gryffindor won, of course, and once again, Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup for the year. Harry had a difficult time, though, keeping his mind on his studies and Quidditch. When not even flying could distract his wary mind, he knew that something was terribly wrong with him. That something was more like someone - Voldemort. 

Like Snape, Harry was not convinced that Voldemort would attack on a designated day. His scar always was hurting him nowadays, and most of the time, he was able to numb himself to it almost entirely. 

"Does Dumbledore have a death wish?" Ron asked one afternoon while they were outside near the lake. 

Hermione glanced up from her book. "Do you really think he has much of a choice, Ron?" 

"I dunno," he mumbled, chewing on his quill. "You'd just think he'd use more tact. He's risking putting a lot of students in danger. Mum was steaming with anger when she found out." 

Hermione harrumphed. "Well, I think Dumbledore knows what he's going. He's always meant well and led us in the right direction." 

"Oh, yeah?" Ron challenged. "What about hiring Crouch, Jr. as a Polyjuiced Moody? What about his decision to keep Harry and Sirius 'protected?'" 

Harry tried hard to ignore his friends. He really wasn't in the mood to listen to their bickering, not when an attack could happen at any minute. Ginny, noticing Harry's apparent discomfort, came over to him and placed an arm around him. 

"Thanks," Harry mumbled. 

Ginny just smiled and squeezed tighter. 

Day passed into evening and into nightfall. Students were headed to bed, leaving Harry and his friends among the last in the common room. There was a big lull in the conversation, for all that was on everyone's minds was the imminent attack. After sitting there for a while and staring into the emptiness, they wished each other good night and headed to their respective beds. 

Harry felt like he would fall over from sheer exhaustion the moment his head hit the pillow. Oddly enough, he fell asleep fairly quickly and began dreaming. At first, his dreams were good dreams, doing things like flying and spending time with Ginny, but then, he felt a shiver move down and up his spine. The air turned deathly cold, and he could see his breath in front of him. 

Glancing around in the darkness, he saw two red eyes glaring back at him. In a rushing instant of insanity, his eyes jolted open to his scar searing with white-hot pain, and all around him, an alarm was sounding. 

Harry wasted not a moment in grabbing his glasses and wand. Clad in his pajamas, he made for the door. 

Voldemort had arrived. 


	58. Chapter FiftyEight

Chapter Fifty-Eight

Ron shuffled awake in his bed, rubbing at his eyes, trying to clear his blurry vision and remove the cobwebs from his brain. From their beds, Neville and Seamus also awoke, hearing the alarm, not quite sure what was going on at first. 

"Wha- what's going on?" Ron asked, watching Harry move toward the door. 

"It's the alarm," Harry said, trying to keep his voice steady. "The alarm that means Voldemort is here." 

For a second, Ron didn't say anything. Too shocked to speak, he finally stuttered, "C-can you be sure?" 

"My scar is hurting like crazy," Harry said with forced calm. "Come on. If you're gonna help, you'd best get your wands and prepare yourselves." He cast his friends a serious glance and then proceeded out the door. 

"Wait up!" Ron exclaimed, hastily grabbing his wand and following Harry down the stairs. Neville and Seamus weren't too far behind. 

In the common room, most of the Gryffindor students had already gathered. Many of the younger ones looked terrified beyond belief, gazing around with confused and horrified eyes. Some of them were touching paintings as they had been instructed and were being transported to safety, but others seemed transfixed and unable to move. 

Hermione and Ginny found Harry, followed by Lavender and Parvati. Other members from Gryffindor who were in Dumbledore's Army gathered around Harry expectantly, awaiting his order or whatever he was about to do. 

Taking one last look around the common room, Harry yelled to the remaining children, "Go on! Touch the paintings! They're portkeys; they'll take you to safety!" 

Knowing time was of the essence, Harry left the common room, only to come face-to-face with McGonagall. Clad in her nightcap and gown, she nearly jumped when she saw Harry. 

"Mr. Potter!" she exclaimed. "I was just on my way-" 

"No time, Professor," Harry replied in a hurry. "I have to find him." 

She only nodded, saying, "I'll check the common room and make sure everyone is safe. I'll be joining you soon thereafter." 

With a curt nod, Harry moved down the hall, keeping himself against the wall. No one said a word, and the other students held back, leaving Harry his space. As they moved through the castle, other students trained to fight joined them, and by the time they reached the main entrance hall, the entire assembly of the DA were with Harry, ready to back him up. 

Glancing back at Ginny, he whispered, "You don't have to do this, you know." 

"Harry Potter," Ginny replied sternly, but with worry and care in her voice, "if you think for one minute that I'm just gonna let you fight Vol- Voldemort alone, you're dead wrong. Don't even bother trying to convince me otherwise." 

In spite of the grave situation, Harry smiled a little. "All right, then. Just promise you'll be careful, all right?" 

When she nodded, he quickly kissed her and then said to the others, "Be careful. Remember everything you've learned. This is it, I'm afraid." 

Swallowing his words, Harry entered the entrance hall. 

In the entrance hall, Harry saw the members of the Order. Apparently, they had all been notified just as Dumbledore had said they would be. Whatever amount of tiredness they may have felt before was now gone, and now they steeled themselves for the impending battle. Across the way, Harry's eyes locked with those of Sirius. Standing next to him was Lupin and next to Lupin, Tonks. Then, seeming to materialize out of thin air, Dumbledore appeared in the midst of them. 

"The time has come," he announced to his allies at large. "You know what awaits us out there. Our worst fears have now been realized and have become a reality. I now must ask of you what I hope no one will ever have to ask of you again, should you live. I ask you to fight with your entire being, your bodies and souls. You, my friends, have a goodness in you that far exceeds any amount of hatred Voldemort and his followers may harbor. Give it your all, and if that should mean your very lives, then you have gone down fighting, not cowering like your enemy." 

With the end of Dumbledore's speech, Harry made ready to leave the castle. As the door opened into the blackness of night, a chill tore through him. Taking one last look behind him into the castle, he saw everyone who had come to mean something to him over the years. That is, everyone expect Snape. 

_Where is Snape?_

Looking back at Dumbledore, Harry searched the old, wise wizard's face for some sort of understanding, some sort of comfort. Those blue eyes that had been the source of such things for so long for Harry no longer seemed so. Instead, Dumbledore's eyes, like the rest of him, appeared worn and tired, like an old, overused toy left battered around the edges. 

"You know what you must do, Harry," Dumbledore said firmly. 

"Yes," Harry replied hollowly, moving out into the darkness. 

The chill of the night air tousled his hair, and Harry gripped his wand harder. Behind him, he could feel the presence of the others following him. The two opposing sides were drawing nearer. Once within range of hearing, Voldemort's cold voice sounded in the equally cold air. 

"Dumbledore!" he bellowed with a terrible hissing undertone. "Come forward and fight like a man! Stop hiding yourself and the boy and face me!" 

Dumbledore was every bit a man and more. "Here I am, Tom," Dumbledore said calmly, coming to stand next to Harry. "But I'm afraid if you want to fight Harry, you shall have to deal with me first." 

"Not a problem, you blundering fool," Voldemort sneered. "I assure you, I have waited a long time for this day, a long time indeed... too long! Death Eaters, attack!" 

With hardly any warning, the blackly-clad Death Eaters darted toward the Order of the Phoenix members, who were trying to shield the students as much as possible. Hexes and curses, anti-hexes and counter-curses began flashing through the air, voices bellowing out on either side. 

Harry made to approach Voldemort, ready to put an end to this insanity once and for all, but Dumbledore stepped in his way. 

"No, Harry, not yet," he insisted. 

"What are you doing, sir?" Harry practically pleaded. "Stop trying to protect me! You know I'm the one who has to face him!" 

"I know that, Harry, but I cannot just stand here and do nothing." 

Before Harry could protest further, Dumbledore approached Voldemort, and they began dueling. Anger boiling inside at both Voldemort and Dumbledore, Harry glanced around, feeling like the world was spinning. Trying to keep his eyes on everyone at once proved impossible, but he couldn't imagine losing Sirius again or Ron or Hermione or especially Ginny, among practically everyone else. 

Suddenly, Harry heard Voldemort's cruel voice bellow, "_Crucio!_" Turning back to Dumbledore and Voldemort, Harry saw the unbelievable. Dumbledore was on the ground, twisting in a horrific display of agony from the Cruciatus. Voldemort, looming over him, hissed, "Ah, finally, the day has come when I have proven myself more powerful than even you, Dumbledore. Finally, you are at my feet, cowering like the fool that you are. Your goodness will be your undoing, and you will suffer long and hard for your treachery." 

Dumbledore did not cry out. Beyond reason by this point, Harry intervened, stepping in front of Dumbledore, his wand out as he yelled, "_Expelliarus!_" 

Voldemort, taken by surprise, was pushed back only slightly, but his wand was still in his hand. The Cruciatus had stopped, though. 

"Well, well, well," Voldemort said lazily, eyeing Harry like a snake appraising its dinner, "Harry Potter has come to the rescue. Do you truly think you are any match for me, _boy_?" 

"We'll see, won't we?" Harry ground out. 

"Oh, yes, that we will, but first, he dies." Voldemort gestured toward Dumbledore, who lay on the ground, unmoving. 

"No!" Harry bellowed. "It's me you want, not him!" 

"So, you want to fight now? You're so anxious to die, Potter? Very well, I can draw out your death as well. Neither you nor the old man deserve the mercy of a quick death. Not after all you put me through." 

"Stop talking!" Harry yelled. "If you wanna fight me, then fight me!" 

Apparently not amused by Harry's attitude, Voldemort grew tight-lipped and aimed a burning hex at Harry, who quickly blocked it. They began dueling, the use of countless hexes being used. The sweat rolled mercilessly down Harry's brow, and his hair was damp and sticking to his head. His glasses kept slidig down his nose, and he felt his head spinning as his short breaths came in quick spurts. Muscles aching, he began to wonder how much longer he could keep at this. The overwhelming need to produce a spell powerful enough to destroy Voldemort ate away at Harry's brain, further causing it to ache uncontrollably, and he wondered if he truly possessed the power to destroy Voldemort. 

Finally, a combination of the Cruciatus and a hex that caused suffocation hit Harry squarely in the chest. In his weakened state, Voldemort disarmed him, Harry's wand flying into his grip. 

Soon enough, Voldemort had lost his patience for drawing out the death of his enemy. With his wand raised, he glared down at Harry. Looking up at Voldemort with blurred vision, Harry thought, _Maybe he's just grown too powerful. Maybe... maybe I've already lost._

Closing his eyes, he prepared himself for the inevitable. Then, he heard two words that ended life: "_Avada Kedavra!_" 

In a swirl of robes and confusion, a figure from Harry's left and a figure from Harry's right moved in front of him at the same time. Catching a quick glimpse of the figures, he realized that the figure on his right was Dumbledore, and the figure on his left was Snape. He didn't have a second to react as the green light from the spell seemed to hit both figures directly in front of him, providing a shield for Harry. Feeling like he would fall over again if he didn't steady himself and face Voldemort, Harry didn't realize the implication of what had just happened. At least, not at first. 

Voldemort was laughing a horrible, high-pitched shrieking noise. "The end of my nemesis, the great white wizard, Albus Dumbledore, _and_ that traitor I had suspected for a long, long time, Severus Snape!" he cried crazily. "They may have protected you, Potter, but now it's your turn to join them!" 

Harry couldn't see the eyes of his friends and allies looking on in absolute horror, transfixed by the sheer magnitude of the evil scene before them. He couldn't look at the ground, either, and see what he knew was there - the dreadful truth sprawled out on the ground in the form of human bodies. 

"_NO!_" Harry roared. "MURDERER! YOU'VE TAKEN AWAY ENOUGH INNOCENT LIVES! NO MORE! NO MORE!" 

Inside himself, Harry felt something beyond his anger gaining control, growing stronger with every word he shouted. It overtook his mind, his heart, his soul, and he willed himself to focus on it completely, forcing himself to search for the darkness that was Voldemort's plagued mind. In that darkness, Harry sought long and hard to find what he was looking for: a terrified boy within. 

"YOU'RE PATHETIC! YOU'RE NOTHING BUT A SCARED, LITTLE BOY, TOM RIDDLE! AN EVIL ORPHAN WHO COULDN'T ACCEPT THE TRUTH! A YOUNG MAN WHO TURNED TO DARKNESS INSTEAD OF LIGHT WHEN GIVEN WHAT COULD HAVE BEEN THE POWER TO DO SO MUCH GOOD! A MAN WHO'S NOT EVEN A MAN ANYMORE, BUT A CREATURE WHOSE LIFE IS BEYOND SAVING! YOUR BLOOD ISN'T EVEN YOUR OWN ANYMORE! EVERYTHING YOU ARE YOU'VE TAKEN FROM OTHER PEOPLE, FEEDING ON WHAT YOU THOUGHT WERE THEIR WEAKNESSES, THINKING THAT LOVE WAS A WEAKNESS, BUT LOVE IS THE GREATEST POWER OF ALL!" 

Harry could feel his mind becoming one with Voldemort's, and Voldemort, try as he might, could not keep Harry out of his mind, out of his blackened heart, our of his lost soul. Harry's love, so powerful, so white, so pure, was like white-hot fire to Voldemort. He felt himself burning within, the blood that was Harry's blood beginning to boil, destroying his inhuman body from the inside-out. Screaming in utter and complete agony, Voldemort's grip on the wands loosened, and they dropped to the ground. Writhing in the pain that he had caused so many people for so long, the love of everyone innocent came back with a vengeance to destroy their destroyer. A great and terrible thing, love was the power that Harry had in such vast quantities that Voldemort possessed not. 

With one long, drawn-out cry, Voldemort exploded into nothingness. Nothing remained. The Death Eaters, now left helpless without their master, were mostly stunned by the Order members, among which was Peter Pettigrew, who Sirius had stunned, even though Lupin had stunned him first. 

Harry stood there, feeling drained. With a glance around the battlefield, he felt his knees buckle under him as he fell gracelessly to the ground. In an instant, people were at his side, expressing their gratitude and concern. 

Blinking, Harry asked in a hoarse voice, "Is it over? Is he really gone?" 

"Yes, Harry," Lupin said, relief evident in his voice, albeit sounding very exhausted. "You did it. You destroyed him." 

Harry reached for his wand and tried to stand. With the help of Ginny and Ron, both left remarkabley unscathed, Harry looked around the grounds. He saw the bodies of a few Death Eaters and felt his chest constrict when he noticed that Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mundungus Fletcher were among the deceased. Unable to see far in the darkness, Harry looked at his feet and saw what he feared had become a reality. 

Lying on the ground not too far away was Dumbledore. Running to him, Harry tried shaking him, but the old wizard didn't move. 

"Harry, no," Hermione said gently from behind, placing a hand on his shoulder. "He's-" 

"He's not dead!" Harry cried, feeling his head spinning and his eyes growing warm. "He just can't be..." 

"I'm sorry, Harry," Tonks said softly, coming to stand nearby. "He took the killing curse for you." 

"I'm afraid it's true," Sirius murmured, not wanting to believe the truth any more than Harry or anyone else did. 

Harry felt hollow inside, as if he had exhausted every ounce of love he had when defeating Voldemort once and for all. He couldn't bear to look on the body of the man who everyone had believed to be the most powerful wizard of the century. Now, his eyes rested on the dark form of Snape. 

"No," Harry whispered, shaking his head. "Don't tell me... Isn't it bad enough? Why-" 

No one answered his questions, but he couldn't hear them, anyway, even if they tried. He felt like he was drifting somewhere far off and away, anywhere but here on this bloodied battleground. 

_He was willing to sacrifice everything, even his life, for me, and now, I'll never have the chance to thank him. I knew Dumbledore would have, but Snape... and no one said anything._ Feeling an overwhelming guilt well up inside him, Harry whispered, "Take me away from this nightmare. Make it end." 

With everyone mourning the loss of Dumbledore, who could think to give a man clad in a Death Eater robe on the outside but clad with honor and loyalty inside a second look? 


	59. Chapter FiftyNine

Chapter Fifty-Nine

While Aurors began to take away the Death Eaters who remained alive, many members of the Order gathered around Dumbledore's lifeless body, the realization of what they were now seeing with their own eyes washing over them, taking hold of them in the whirlpool effect, and potentially threatening to drown them as they tried to hold back their tears, whether physical or figurative. 

Harry was at Snape's side, though, wondering why no one seemed to notice him. Maybe it was his dark Death Eater robes that kept him hidden, or maybe it was the Death Eater mask on his face that served as a reminder to far too many people of the man's past. Ripping the mask off Snape's face now, Harry felt a flash of anger that anyone could possibly still believe Snape unredeemable. 

_But he saved my life!_ he longed to scream. 

Harry knew he should be mourning for Dumbledore, and he was, but Dumbledore's last action of sacrificing himself for Harry came as no surprise to people, Harry included. Dumbledore was, after all, the most powerful good wizard of the century, and his loyalty and belief in Harry's ability to defeat Voldemort were well known, even to the point of ridicule and shun by some over the past few years. 

Shaking his head, Harry wondered why he didn't feel the slightest bit happy. Hadn't he been waiting for this day for so long? 

Glancing down at Snape's paler than usual face, Harry thought his belief confirmed, that yes, this man was now dead, but in the rush of emotion and softened voices all around him, he thought he heard shallow breathing. With the thickness of the garment covering Snape's chest, Harry couldn't tell if it was moving, so, bending down closer, he listened and then _felt_ a weak wisp of air hit his cheek. 

Feeling his heart skip a beat, he turned toward the others, finding Mrs. Weasley nearly upon him, followed by several others, all who had looks of concern on their faces. Harry wondered if those looks were for him or for Snape. Sadly, he figured they were worried about him. 

"He's alive," Harry croaked. "We've gotta get him to the infirmary, now!" 

Mrs. Weasley, startled by Harry's sudden outburst, visibly jumped back. "Harry, dear, that is impossible. Both Albus and he took the killing curse for you." 

"No," Harry almost pleaded. "Listen. Come here and listen. He's breathing." 

Mrs. Weasley stepped closer, placing a hand on Harry's shoulder as she did so. After a moment, her eyes grew in size, and she gasped. "You heard him!" she called to the others. "We need to get Severus some help, and fast!" 

Arthur Weasley was right behind his wife, followed by Tonks and Lupin. Sirius looked uneasily at his classmate enemy and then at Harry. Then, joining the others nearby, they placed a hovering spell on Snape's unconscious form and began moving him to the castle. 

Harry followed them, glancing back at Dumbledore's body, which was surrounded by Aurors. Turning his head away, he walked solemnly toward the castle. 

Madam Pomfrey was already in full-mode to start helping those who were injured. Some students who had minor injuries were already being treated by a couple of other mediwitches, who Harry assumed were from St. Mungo's and had been called in. She had not known about Dumbledore, but when she saw Snape, she thought the worst. 

"Is he- ?" she started to ask. 

"No," Mr. Weasley said. "Almost, though." 

"Put him down on this bed," she commanded, gesturing toward the nearest cot. "What happened?" 

Harry had been following directly behind as the adults levitated Snape into the castle, not noticing that his friends were right behind him. "Dumbledore and he took the killing curse for me," Harry explained, trying to keep his voice steady. 

"Oh, my," Pomfrey breathed, horrified. "Is Albus- ?" He couldn't bring herself to finish the sentence, but could tell by the looks on everyone's faces that the Headmaster was dead. 

Stifling a sob, she blinked several times, apparently trying not to start crying. Mrs. Weasley went over to her and tried to offer comfort, but Madam Pomfrey shrugged her off gently. "Pull yourself together, Poppy," she murmured to herself. "Now is not the time to start falling apart at the seams." 

Harry suddenly felt a hand reaching for his clammy one and turned to see Ginny there. Offering him a weak smile, she squeezed his hand and pulled him toward her. She led Harry to a seat, and along with Hermione and Ron, they sat down and watched. There was nothing they could do but hope and pray. 

While Mrs. Weasley set to helping out with the patients, Tonks and Lupin said they would return to the battlefield and check the status of things. While Madam Pomfrey worked on Snape, Sirius came over to Harry and knelt down in front of him. 

"How are you holding up, Harry?" he asked, searching his godson's face. 

Harry shook his head. "I feel like... like I've exploded and pieces of me are everywhere. What's wrong with me, Sirius? I should be happy." There was a desperation in Harry's voice, and he sounded very young. 

"Harry," Sirius said gently, "you've just defeated Voldemort and drained yourself in the process, not to mention Dumbledore has been killed by that horrible creature. I don't think anyone ever imagined Dumbledore being taken down by anyone, even Voldemort." 

"Everyone always looked up to him," Harry added softly, "including me. Why did he have to be so foolish, though?" Gesturing toward the cot where Snape lay, Harry continued, "Why did _he_ have to be so foolish? Why did they think they had to die... for... for me?" An incredible guilt was coursing through Harry's veins at the very thought that one person for sure and perhaps another had died for him. 

"Because, Harry, they were willing to," Sirius pointed out. "Just like I was when I fell through the veil. I don't know what I did to get a second chance or if I even deserve it, but had I not been distracted by Peter out there, I would have jumped in front of you to protect you. You know that. I think practically everyone out there fighting on our side would have done likewise for you, Harry. Everyone depended on _you_ to defeat Voldemort." 

"Well, they don't need to depend on me anymore," Harry stated bitterly. "That filthy snake is gone for good, but I didn't want any more people to die on my account, damn it!" 

Harry angrily pounded his fist on his thigh, causing his friends to jump. "Harry-" Hermione and Ginny started to say, very worried about him. 

"Forget it," Harry murmured. 

Standing up and sensing that there was nothing more he could do for Harry right now, Sirius said, "I think I'll give you some space for now, Harry, and go see if they need any help outside. You know where to find me." 

Harry nodded sullenly and watched as Sirius left. As soon as Sirius had left, McGonagall entered. Seeing Harry, she immediately ran to his side. Her eyes were red and puffy from crying. 

"Oh, Harry," she said, clutching his hand. "I'm so glad you're okay. I got caught up in keeping the students protected, that I didn't have time to arrive until late." 

"Did you- ?" Harry started to ask, but then stopped, for he could tell from the look on her face that she already knew. 

"Yes, Harry," she said sadly. "Hagrid already told me. I should have known Albus would do something like this." Sniffling, she sighed, "He loved you like a son, Harry. He would have done anything for you, you realize." 

Harry said bitterly, "So everyone keeps telling me. I really don't care to talk about it right now, ma'am." 

With a nod of understanding, McGonagall left Harry alone and went to Snape's beside. 

"He looks like death," she murmured to Madam Pomfrey. "I heard what happened," she added, shaking her head forlornly. 

Pomfrey replied, "It would seem that Albus took the brunt of the curse. He must have been just to the front, enough to offer protection to Severus, but I'm afraid Severus was also hit pretty hard. There is no small doubt in my mind that any curse coming from You-Know-Who would have been at least ten times stronger than coming from anyone else." 

"Will he survive?" McGonagall ventured softly, her eyes traveling down the length of Snape despondently. 

"I cannot say," Madam Pomfrey murmured. "I have done all that I can for now. He is stabilized, but only time will tell." 

"Then I guess we are left waiting," McGonagall said quietly. Turning, she headed for the door, stopping near Harry and his friends. "Perhaps you all ought to try and get some sleep. I realize this is asking a near impossibility, but there will only be much more left to deal with come morning." 

"Professor?" Ron asked suddenly. 

"Yes, Mr. Weasley?" 

"Are you in charge now?" 

She had not thought of it, but realizing that Dumbledore was truly gone, even though it had not fully sunk in yet, she nodded. "Yes, I suppose I am. This is not the way I would have wanted it, though. I always imagined Professor Dumbledore simply retiring, and then I would assume his place." She paused, casting a despairing look across the room and out the window. "But who was I fooling, really? I should have known better." 

With those heart-wrenching words, she left the students in silence. Harry gave his friends a look that said, "I'm not going anywhere," and remained in the infirmary. They refused to leave his side. 

A little while later, Draco came floating into the infirmary. "What a mess," he murmured, more to himself than anyone. 

"No kidding, Malfoy," Ron said sarcastically, glaring at him. "Where've you been, anyway?" 

Ignoring Ron's tone of voice, Draco replied, "Out on the field. Like I said, what a mess. I was there, in case you living didn't notice." Draco looked a bit put out as he frowned. 

"I saw you, Draco," Hermione said softly. "You were great." She smiled a little. 

Ron had no words for this as his mouth gaped, but Draco just nodded. "Not much I could have done but startle a few people. It takes a lot of concentration and energy to materialize. I'm afraid that I was really only able to do that when I pushed Auntie through the veil." 

He tried to appear smug, but there was no heart in it. Glancing over at Harry, Draco said, "Well done, Potter. Looks like you finally proved yourself." 

Harry wanted to roll his eyes. "It wasn't about proving myself, Malfoy. You know that." 

"Yeah, I know," Draco murmured. "I guess I was just trying to act like things were still... normal." 

Harry could understand that, but muttered, "I don't think I know what normal is anymore." 

Silence loomed for a while, and Draco floated out of the infirmary, but not before going to Snape's beside. With a sorrowful shake of the head, he had no words. 

Despite everything that was going through Harry's overworked mind, his felt his eyelids growing heavy. Turning his head slightly, he noticed that Ginny had fallen asleep next to him, leaning her head on his shoulder. He tightened his grasp around her and gazed over at Hermione and Ron. Ron was leaning his head back at an odd angle that looked quite uncomfortable and was snoring, but Hermione was still awake. 

"Looks like he'll have quite a neck cramp come morning," Harry found himself joking lightly. 

Hermione laughed softly. It was the first time either of them had it in them to laugh. "Yeah, you know he can manage to sleep through anything. I'm surprised the alarm woke him up. Otherwise, he probably would have slept through the battle," Hermione said with a smile. 

"He would have never lived that one down," Harry said, yawning. 

Hermione just smiled and then closed her eyes. Before Harry realized it, he had managed to fall asleep. 

Pale morning sunlight was filtering into the room, warming the skin on his face. Feeling the warmth, he thought he must be dreaming or no longer alive, for what could possibly feel this good? The last thing he remembered was darkness and a flash of green light, and then... nothing. 

Opening his eyes, he found himself staring, unfocused, at the ceiling. As consciousness and coherence returned, he began to feel the pain emanating all over his body. There was a dull ache in his head, and he winced as his eyes reached their full openness. 

Someone shuffled next to him, and he turned his head slightly to see who it was, cringing at the soreness from being in one position for so long. It was McGonagall. She looked worn to the bone, and he was just about to ask her what had happened when she placed a finger to his lips to silence him. 

"Shhh, don't speak," she murmured. "You've barely enough energy to be breathing and blinking right now, let alone talking." 

Protesting internally, Snape made to speak, but again, McGonagall shushed him. "I would highly advice against it, Severus," she stated sternly. "That is, unless you would like a silencing spell placed on you." 

Realizing this was a battle he was not going to win, he relented, too drained to protest further. Relaxing his shoulders, he gave her a questioning look, which prompted her to explain what had happened. 

"Yes, in case you are wondering, Harry has destroyed him," she said. 

Snape felt a rush of relief go through him, but wondered why she didn't seem happier. His memory of what had happened was fuzzy, but focusing on his last thoughts before blacking out, he suddenly realized he shouldn't even be here now. Then, with a sudden sinking feeling, Snape remembered that someone else had lept to Harry's protection at the last moment. 

Dumbledore. 

Creasing his brow uneasily, Snape looked up at McGonagall with a pained expression on his face. Despite her warnings otherwise, he spoke. 

"Where is Albus?" he asked, his mouth feeling drier than it had a moment ago. 

She had a difficult time looking him in the eyes just then. McGonagall glanced away and out the window, and Snape noticed that her eyes were glassy. She didn't have her square spectacles on, so it was plain to see that she was about to cry. A rebel tear spilled over the brim of her lower eyelid and fell steadily down her wrinkled cheek. Shaking her head almost inperceptibly, McGonagall whispered, "I'm so sorry, Severus." 

Feeling his mouth hanging open, he couldn't believe it to be true. She had not spoken the exact words that pronounced Dumbledore's demise, but the unspoken words were all around, evidently hanging in the air. Now, gazing around the room, Snape noticed Harry Potter and his friends all asleep in chairs near the doorway, expressions of unease on all their faces. 

"It can't be," he murmured, refusing to believe the truth. 

"I'm afraid it is true," was all she could manage. "He took the brunt of the curse." 

Suddenly, anger overwhelmed Snape, and he bolted up in bed and slammed his fists down hard onto the mattress on either side of him. Squeezing his eyes shut, hoping desperately that maybe if he didn't have to see the world around him, he wouldn't have to face the reality of things. 

"That blundering old fool!" he yelled. "He took away from me the only thing I could ever do that would prove my loyalty!" 

Snape's suddenly raised voice startled those around them awake, including Harry and his friends, and Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, bustling into the room. 

"Severus!" both she and McGonagall admonished. 

McGonagall, though, was too shocked to say anything to those hopeless words. Fearing for Snape's condition, Madam Pomfrey cast a calming spell on him and then force-fed him a very heavy sleeping draught. He fell into a drug-induced slumber immediately. 

"Another outburst like that and I fear to say what could happen to him," she said, shaking her head. 

"I know, Poppy," McGonagall replied, frowning. "Can you blame him, though?" 

"No," the mediwitch was forced to admit. 

The two witches glanced over in the direction of Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny. Professor McGonagall walked over to them and said, "I think it is time you all returned to your rooms. Breakfast is only a couple of hours away, and it would do us all some good to get a little sleep in our beds." 

Before they left, Harry said to McGonagall, "I'm glad he woke up, at least." 

"That is a start, Harry," she replied wistfully, "but we all have a long way to go before we are all recovered from this tragedy." 

As Harry left, he considered her choice of words. 

_Tradegy._

Everyone always imagined the final defeat of Voldemort to be a time of joy and celebration, but for those who were the most intimately involved, most of what they felt was the tradegy of such great loss. 


	60. Chapter Sixty

Chapter Sixty

The news of Voldemort's demise spread like a wild fire through the wizarding world, and before Harry had a moment to breath, he was being inundated with letters and requests for interviews. The morning after the final battle, the students were all safely returned to Hogwarts, and during breakfast, Dumbledore's majestic chair remained empty. Sitting next to it in her usual spot, Professor McGonagall did not feel she had the right to sit in that chair. No one could replace Dumbledore. 

"No one can replace Professor Dumbledore," she said, her voice heavy with emotion, as she stood and made the announcement during that plaintive meal. "He will be missed greatly, not just by Hogwarts's staff and students, but by the wizarding community as a whole. His loss is great, and he will not be forgotten. His death, though, was nothing short of everything he stood for during his long life: bravery, loyalty, and the ultimate sacrific of love. It is with a heavy heart, then, that I must assume his role as Head of the school." 

Sniffing, she reached for a handkerchief from her robes and wiped her nose and under his eyes. Continuing, she said, "But now is also a time of much joy. Thanks to Harry Potter, Lord Voldemort has been defeated now and forever. Finally, we are all free to live our lives, and for those who gave their lives, we commend them and remember them as they would have wanted us: with joy, not sorrow." 

She raised her glass and proposed a toast, and the students followed suit. From the end of the head table, a single pair of overly large hands began to clap, and Harry looked with awe as Hagrid stood, clapping his hands, tears flowing down his ruddy cheeks. The other teachers soon joined, and then the students followed. Harry sat in stunned silence, not sure if they were clapping in rememberance of Dumbledore, the defeat of Voldemort, or of his deed... or all the above. 

Next to him, Ron elbowed him, and from the other side, Ginny tugged on his sleeve. From across the table, Hermione hissed, "Stand up, Harry!" 

Feeling unsure of himself, Harry stood, and the applause grew in volume. In spite of the loss of Dumbledore and the moments' ago tears, smiles were beginning to spread out on faces throughout the Great Hall. Once the applause surrendered, Harry sat back down and regarded McGonagall. 

"Thank you, Harry," she said in the most sincere voice. "When I think of all that has happened, I realize that Albus Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted us to be sad. He died, wanting us to live and be happy. It is now up to us all to carry on what he started." 

Harry smiled unsteadily and gave her a nod, even though he knew she had been addressing everybody. The rest of the meal went about as well as could have been expected, all things considered. 

Later that day, Snape was still in the infirmary, having missed the simultaneously heartwarming and heartbreaking speech given by McGonagall during breakfast. Having slept most of the day (and not of his own volition), he was now sitting up in the bed, propped up by pillows, and a tray of food was next to the bed. Eyeing the food, he felt like he could vomit. 

McGonagall suddenly entered the room and approached his bedside, gazing questioningly at the tray. "Not hungry?" she ventured. 

"I don't feel like eating," Snape grumbled. 

Taking a seat, McGonagall frowned. "But you haven't eaten all day. You'll need to build your strength back up." 

"What for?" Snape sneered. 

"Oh, don't be so obstinate, Severus!" she exclaimed exasperatedly. "You almost died, for heaven's sake. You do yourself no good with this attitude of not caring about your welfare." 

"Then perhaps that is because I don't care, Minerva," he said harshly. "I told you: I should have died out there. I would have, too, had Albus not gotten in the way. Even in his death, the old fool has managed to reduce me to feeling like nothing." 

"What do you mean?" she asked, clearly concerned. 

"He always claimed to see something worth saving in me, but every time he came around with his kind and benevolent ways, it was too much for me. I never felt like I deserved any of it. I felt like nothing and could never understand how he saw anything in me. Dying for the cause was the only thing, the only _sacrifice_ I could have ever made that would have proven myself." 

"To whom?" she asked gently. "To yourself? You know you have already more than proven yourself a million times over to many people, Albus at the top of that list, and you know that you are worthwhile, Severus. Albus never told people lies. He always valued the truth, and he always valued the goodness in people, even when they couldn't see it in themselves." 

Snape knew her eyes were boring into him. He could feel it, but he couldn't look back. Feeling too reminiscent of the way Dumbledore used to regard him, Snape felt his chest constricting, finding it harder and harder to breathe. Turning his head away, purposefully hiding his face with his black hair, he felt like stepping back into the shadows, the place where he always lurked, and never coming out. 

From her vantage point, all McGonagall could see was his hair, curtaining him from not only her, but from the rest of the world. Without his imposing black robes or standing at his full height, he seemed reduced to a scared, shivering man... a scared, shivering man in a hospital bed, clad in white pajamas and covered with white sheets. She noticed his hand was trembling and then noticed that the rest of him was trembling, too. Reaching for his hand with hers, she tentatively covered his cold hand with her warm one. 

Flinching at her touch, he tried to pull away, but she firmly insisted on keeping her hand where it was. Too weak, perhaps, to protest, Snape felt the walls caving in all around him. After so long, he was too tired, too drained, too emotionally shattered, to work so hard in keeping the barriers erected. His voice tremulous, he whispered, "W-why?" 

McGonagall couldn't take another moment of just clutching his hand. She knew he needed so much more than just a mere touch to such a small part of his being. Using her hand, she grasped gently around his wrist and eased him toward her. Before Snape could resist, she had her arms wrapped around him. 

His face was now buried in her robes. She was surprised when he tightened his grip around her, but then, as soon as he had returned the embrace, he loosened it and pulled back. Keeping his head turned, McGonagall finally said softly, "Look at me, Severus." 

For what could have been an eternity, he did not look at her, but then, slowly, he turned and faced her. She nearly gasped when she saw his face. In all her years of knowing Severus Snape, she had never once seen such a look of desperation and loss on his face. He seemed utterly ashamed, appearing much younger than he was, and his eyes were glassly, glistening. He looked down and away with only his eyes, and when his lids shifted and closed, a tear streaked down his cheek. 

"You must think me a horrible man, acting like some child," he croaked pathetically. 

"No, never," she insisted. "You have just as much right to mourn his loss as anyone. You especially have that right." 

"It wasn't supposed to be like this," Snape whispered, quickly wiping all traces of the solitary tear away. 

Shaking her head forlornly, she murmured, "No one wanted this: the loss of someone we all looked up to for so long. But, Severus, Albus was proud of you. I know that for a fact, and he would have been proud of you right now. He wouldn't have wanted you to be so saddened, even in his absence." 

"It is of little consequence, Minerva." 

"Nonsense. He may have died, but you are still alive. Do not live your life like a dead man." 

"You're sounding an awful lot like Albus," Snape half-grumbled. 

"Good," she tried to tease, hoping to lighten the mood. 

"I- " he hesitated, not sure what to say next. He considered her words and thought of all the times Dumbledore had been there for him, constantly reminding him of his self-worth. He oftentimes refused outrightly to believe what he labelled "an old man's insufferable, blathering nonsense," but in his heart of hearts, Snape knew that Dumbledore never would have lied to him, never would have sugarcoated the truth in his presence. "I will need some time," he finally managed. 

"We all will," McGonagall agreed. "Before I go, there is one thing I would like to ask of you." 

Casting a wary look at her, he asked, "What?" 

"Would you be my Deputy Headmaster?" 

At Snape's look of shock, she added, "Please at least consider it. Albus would have wanted it, I am sure." 

He nodded, and with one more gentle squeeze of the hand, McGonagall stood and made to leave. "Think about it and eat something." 

She left, leaving Snape to his thoughts as he picked at the tray of food. 

Over the next few days, funeral preparations were underway for Dumbledore. The funeral was to be held on a Saturday on the grounds of Hogwarts, the place where Dumbledore had come to call home for many years of his life. In that time, life at Hogwarts went on, although, for Harry, something felt out of place. Even though parties were being thrown for Harry and for the demise of Voldemort, every student, especially Harry, could feel an emptiness filling the castle. 

It was as if Dumbledore's presence and magic had coated the walls and saturated every stone to the core, even filling in the empty spaces in between. 

When the day of the funeral arrived, people from all over the wizarding world came to pay their last respects to Albus Dumbledore. Harry had never seen the grounds and the castle so full of people. When the time came, everyone gathered outside near the lake, the sun shining down on them. It was as if heaven were smiling down on them, saying, "Don't worry. He is safe now." 

The ceremony was a solemn occasion, people seated as they listened to the eulogy. The Minister of Magic gave a rather impersonal speech, talking about the things that everyone knew about Dumbledore: everything that was printed on Chocolate Frog Cards across Britain. Then, McGongall spoke, saying many of the things that she already had to the students the morning after Dumbledore's death. 

"Would anyone else like to say anything?" she asked, glancing at the crowd. 

Several people shifted in their seats, seeming to want to say something, but many of them held back. Finally, an ancient man who Harry didn't even know volunteered and spoke of the days when he had known Dumbledore and fought alongside him in the battles against Grindelwald. Some more people said a few words, and through the entire time, Harry wondered if he should say anything. There were many things he wanted to say, but he wished he could say them to Dumbledore directly, not to a crowd of people and in memory of him. 

A witch with a high-pitched, nervous-sounding voice had just finished speaking now, and Harry felt that if he didn't say something now, he probably never would. Standing up, he felt the eyes of everyone on him, making him quite uncomfortable. Walking to the front of the crowd and taking a position on the podium near the casket, Harry looked out over the vast sea of people and swallowed apprehensively. He knew that everyone knew who he was, so he didn't bother saying his name. 

Gazing at the casket now, keeping his eyes off the crowd, Harry imagined the lid opening and Dumbledore coming out, laughing merrily, as if this were all some horrible practical joke. Shaking his head, Harry blinked back tears, knowing he had not allowed himself to fully mourn the loss of Dumbledore yet. 

"Albus Dumbledore was many things to many people," Harry said slowly, his voice shaky. "To me, first and foremost... he was my friend," he continued, his voice cracking. In that moment, he felt the hotness of tears burning overwhelmingly in his eyes, and dashing them furiously away, he said, "I'm sorry. I'm sorry..." 

Harry turned to leave, but McGonagall stepped onto the podium and steadied him. "It's all right, Harry," she murmured consolingly to him. "Maybe everyone should know just how much he meant to you. Don't be afraid to share that with them." 

Nodding, Harry murmured his thanks and turned back to the crowd. "Yes, he was my friend, and that is how I want to remember him. That is how I want all of you to remember him: a friend to the world, both wizard and Muggle. He wasn't perfect, even though a lot of us thought he was, but in everything he did, he did it with his whole heart, his intention always good." 

Harry stopped, wondering if he should add anything more, but he felt like anything he could say would only be words already heard. Stepping quietly down from the podium, he made his way back to his seat. The moment he sat down, he was surprised to see a black figure walk past him. He realized with shock that it was Snape. 

Everyone watched with curiosity as the darkly-clad man assumed the platform. Snape didn't look at them. Perhaps he feared what he might see looking back at him. In a low voice, he said, "Albus Dumbledore was one in a million. For me, words cannot say what he meant to me. If he could see even the good in someone like me, then I believe he saw goodness in all of you. As Mr. Potter said, he was a friend, but not just a friend: a true friend. That is a rare and precious thing in the world today." 

With those words, Snape stepped down. After he had spoken, no one else came forward. It seemed a fitting end to the ceremony, as Dumbledore had been rare and precious. 

Later that day, after most of the people had gone home, Lupin was sitting outside near the lake, gazing quietly at the sun as it made to set. He felt someone sit down next to him and turned to see Tonks in the grass to his left. 

Smiling weakly at her, he returned his attention to the sun. 

"It was a beautiful day," Tonks said quietly. 

"Yes, it was," Lupin murmured softly, picking up a stone and rubbing it thoughtfully with his right hand. 

"I think Sirius will be released soon," she said, trying hard for conversation. 

Shortly after the battle, Sirius had been taken by the Ministry and had been kept quarantined while the Wizengamot gave a hearing. With Peter Pettigrew caught, the trial for Sirius's freedom would finally be held. 

Sighing, Lupin muttered bitterly, "Sirius should have been here today, not locked up." 

"I know," Tonks replied, feeling guilty. "Everything has been going well, though. I'm sure he'll be out in no time." 

"I suppose you're right. Everything has seemed so unreal lately, though. I find myself wondering what to believe and what not to believe. I mean, Voldemort is gone, but so is Dumbledore. Sirius will be free, but right now, he's still a prisoner. I guess I never imagined the aftermath of the war being so... so mixed up." 

"I know," Tonks repeated, stroking his arm lightly. "With gain comes loss, though. Albus was remembered in a beautiful way, and if you remember all the people who were there..." 

"How could I forget?" Lupin asked. "They practically covered the entire grounds." 

Tonks laughed a little at that. "At least all this wide, open space has been used for something. Too bad it had to be a funeral." She paused, then asked, "Have you talked much to Harry?" 

"A little," he confessed, "but I think Harry has needed time to come to terms with everything. I think seeing him nearly break down in front of all those people today proved that he still needed to get some things off his chest." 

"Well, he's certainly been through more than any other seventeen-year-old boy I know," Tonks acquiesced. "I can't blame him in the least." 

"We owe him everything," Lupin observed. "Even if Albus were alive, nothing even he could say would be enough to express the gratitude we have for Harry." 

Tonks only nodded, choosing to keep quiet and bask in the truth of those words, watching the sun set. 

A couple days later, Sirius was released, all charges dropped. Vowing never to return to Grimmauld Place, he came to live temporarily in the castle, until the end of the school year, when Lupin and he would go to Lupin's house. For the most part, things around Hogwarts returned to normal, and as June quickly approached, the fifth and seventh years were working hard to prepare for the O.W.L.s and N.E.W.T.s. 

On one late evening, Harry was sitting in Lupin's office, sharing tea with Sirius and Lupin. Harry had been extremely happy when Sirius was finally free and was even happier when he heard that he would be living at Hogwarts. Still, though, he found himself saying, "I can't believe it's really true." 

"Neither can I," Sirius replied, taking a biscuit and chewing on it. "It sure beats talking through that portrait." 

All three of them glanced over at the painting of the fifteen-year-old Sirius and smiled in remembrance. 

"The only thing that could make this any better would be having Dumbledore around," Harry murmured. "I wonder if a painting will be made of him." 

"I'm sure there will be one made," Lupin pointed out. "The whole headmaster's office is filled with portraits of all the previous headmasters and headmistresses." 

Harry thought about that and smiled, thinking it would be nice to speak with Dumbledore again, even if it was just a portrait. 

"I should tell you, though, Harry, that a portrait of Dumbledore wouldn't be the same thing as Sirius's portrait," Lupin explained. "Sirius wasn't properly dead, just in another realm, where he could somehow manage to communicate through a painting of himself. The vast majority of portraits are simply charmed to take on the personality of the wizard or witch they represent... a mere shadow, if you will." 

Harry's smile turned into a frown. "Well... I guess it would be better than nothing." 

"Don't be so down, Harry," Sirius said, trying to cheer him up. "You know what everyone's been saying - that Dumbledore wouldn't have wanted us to be sad, even on account of losing him." 

"Yeah, I know, but it's gonna take a long time to get used to his absence," Harry muttered sullenly. 

The next day, McGonagall decided that she had waited long enough for a response from Snape. He had been well enough to walk about the castle as he pleased for several days now, but he had remained withdrawn and reclusive. Ever since his speech on the day of Dumbledore's funeral, he had avoided speaking whenever possible. 

Knocking on the door to his office, she awaited a response, and when none came, she pushed the door open just enough to peer inside. Sure enough, Snape was sitting behind his desk, bent over a pile of parchments, apparently grading. 

"Severus," she said neutrally. 

"Minerva," he muttered, not looking at her. "What is it?" 

"Well?" she inquired, her lips tight. 

"Well, what?" he asked, sounding bitter and annoyed. "What is the reason for this intrusion?" 

Stepping fully into the room now, she firmly shut the door behind her and exclaimed, "Severus Snape! You look at me this instant! I'll not tolerate any more of this attitude of yours! You should be happy. Would it kill you to smile?" 

"Happy," Snape spat, suddenly glaring up at her. "Happy was a word never meant to enter into my vocabulary, let alone be an emotion I could ever really feel, at least for any extended length of time." 

She sighed exasperatedly. "What will it take to convince you that you are forgiven, free, everything you were ever ashamed of erased?" 

"You already know the answer to that question." 

"Saying you should have died is not an acceptable answer," she insisted sternly, losing her temper. 

"Here is an answer to what you asked me a few days ago: no." 

"But you said you needed time-" 

"I had time! Plenty of it! All the time in the world to fester in my thoughts, and I don't see what good being your deputy would do anyone. Ask Sprout. Ask Flitwick. Hell, even ask Hagrid. Merlin knows those students wouldn't want the likes of me being second in command." 

"If you are so concerned about what the students think of you, then why do you act the way you do?" McGonagall questioned fiercely. "You choose to be sour and cruel, letting your own shame get the worst of you, even when everything is all said and done." 

"They are ungrateful, never realizing anything I went through." 

"'They?'" she asked, suddenly realizing where this was going. "I think perhaps you mean 'him.'" 

"Congratulations, Minerva," Snape sneered. 

"Mr. Potter was the first one at your side that night!" she exclaimed. "You've really no idea, do you?" she asked, her voice dropping. 

"No one ever told me." 

"Give him time, Severus. You are not the easiest person to approach. I do not think Harry would take your sacrifice forgranted." 

Snape wondered when Harry Potter's approval had come to mean so much to him. Thinking himself pathetic for even allowing that thought to enter his mind, he mumbled, "We shall see." 

McGonagall turned to leave, but Snape said, "If it's so important to you, Minerva, fine, I'll be your Deputy Headmaster." 

When she finally left, she thought she may have actually talked some sense into the impossible man. 

June came, and the last remaining weeks passed by like a single day. Before Harry knew it, the N.E.W.T.s had come and gone. He had been so wrapped up in spending time with Sirius and Lupin, with Ginny, or with Ron and Hermione and his other friends, that the thought of ever talking to Snape was shoved further and further to the back of his mind. 

At first, he had thought the timing would be off, reasoning that it was too soon after the loss of Dumbledore. Then, he noticed Snape's extremely bitter mood and decided to leave the man his space. After nearly a month, though, Harry's mind had become occupied with endless other things. 

Time and again, he would recount to Ginny how blessed he was to have her in his life, thankful that they had both survived the war. Vowing to keep his promise to her, Harry looked forward to a future where he would be with Ginny, free to live his life without the threat of Voldemort knocking at his door. 

Everything was happening so quickly now that Harry felt like he was in a whirlwind, everything blowing by him at an extremely fast rate. It was with a spinning head, as if walking on clouds, his mind elsewhere, that he suddenly realized he was walking down the aisle to accept his certificate of graduation from Hogwarts. 

Graduation. The end. Could it really be? 

Accepting the diploma, Harry gazed at the crowd, seeing everyone important in his life. Sirius was beaming, whistling insanely. Ron clapped loudly, which caused the rest of the Weasleys to erupt into bellows of congratulations and exorbitant clapping. Hermione smiled from ear to ear, clapping crazily. Then, it seemed that the clapping grew contagious, for the whole of the crowd cheered for Harry. Smiling, Harry returned to his seat. 

After the ceremony was over, freshly-graduated students were milling about, talking with their parents, making introductions, and giving well-wishes to their friends and classmates. Surrounded by his friends, Harry felt like this was some sort of incredible dream, but at the same time, he felt overwhelmed. 

"I think I'm going to just step outside for a moment and take a breather," he told them. "I'll be right back." 

Going outside, Harry inhaled the fresh air, allowing it to fill his lungs, savoring its life-giving ability. Closing his eyes, he allowed the wind to blow gently around him and basked in the warmth of the sun. 

When he opened his eyes again, he was surprised to see a point of darkness among all the light. Over by the lake, Harry noticed someone sitting, all alone. 

_I wonder?_ Harry asked himself. 

Walking over to the lake, Harry soon enough realized that his belief was confirmed. Sitting there was Snape. 

"Sir," Harry said levelly. 

"Potter," Snape muttered. 

"I didn't see you at the ceremony." 

"I doubt anyone else noticed. What is it to you, anyway?" 

Sitting down a short distance from Snape, Harry said, "You know, I never thanked you." 

Snape remained silent. 

"Really," Harry added sincerely. "I mean it, sir. Thank you. And not just for what you did that day. I know we haven't exactly gotten along over the years-" 

Snape snorted. 

"-but I am grateful, sir, for everything you've done. I just wanted you to know that." 

Snape finally looked up, his black eyes boring into Harry's green ones. 

He managed a small smile. He had heard what he needed to, even though he would never admit it. "If thanks are in order, then I should thank you, too, Harry. It is because of you that we are all here today." 

Despite having heard similar words from a lot of people, Harry was at a loss for words when hearing them from Snape. Walking over to him, he extended his arm, offering his hand. "Good luck, sir." 

Snape regarded Harry's proffered hand for a moment before taking it. Shaking his hand firmly, Snape replied, "Good luck, Harry." 

Late that night, the night before he would leave Hogwarts, Harry sat up in bed, holding the mirror Sirius had given him. In the dimness of only moonlight, Harry ran his fingers along the edges, seeing his distorted image in the cracked glass. 

Unlike a couple years ago, Harry could now look in this mirror and smile, in spite of its imperfections. Harry focused on his reflection, looking deeper than he ever had before, through his own eyes and into his own eyes. There, he saw the faces of everyone he had come to hold dear. Even in the times of the greatest loss, beauty could be found within those who chose to see it. Like Dumbledore had seen in people, Harry found himself understanding something deep and prolific: that he could now see that same beauty in people. Smiling back at himself and everyone else whose face was permanently etched on his heart, there was a smile of a reflection of himself. 

The End

Author's Notes: A huge thank you to all my fans! For all my loyal reviewers - there are too many of you to name - I thank you! You have made me feel like a real writer, and I feel blessed to have such wonderful readers as you all. Thank you, thank you, thank you! I simply can't say it enough! 

Writing this story over the course of the past year and a half has been an amazing experience. When I set out to write my first novel-length Harry Potter story, I never imagined it would surpass 200,000 words in length and reach 60 chapters! I certainly never imagined I would gain the favor of so many wonderful, loyal readers along the way! 

When I first started writing this story, there were certain things that I didn't yet know (i.e. the way portraits can talk, the fact that Dean Thomas is really a half-blood, a new Minister of Magic during Harry's sixth year). I kept things limited to the working knowledge I had in December 2003 (when I first started writing this) and did actually add in little details of some things JKR revealed along the way (like birthdays). Any inconsistency was certainly not intentional, as I'm far from perfect! 

My goal of finishing this before the release of book six was met! I wanted my readers to be done with this story before the "real thing" came out, changing everything. While I realize that some of the things I've written about, like Sirius's return, Lupin's being the DADA teacher, and a somewhat nicer Snape, may not actually happen in the "real thing," I can always dream, right? ;) I certainly hope at least some of the things I've written about come true. I guess we'll just have to wait and see... 

Anyway, you are still welcomed to join my updates list at http/groups. since this will most certainly not be my last Harry Potter fanfic! I intend to start fresh once I've read _Harry Potter and the Half-Blood Prince_ and look forward to "seeing" some of you again. Also, I hope to add more illustrations to this story, which will be posted at my updates list and on my website at http/harrypotter. where the illustrated version of this story can be found. 

Finally, a BIG THANK YOU goes out to Deb Casselbury, one of my best friends and fellow Harry Potter fanatic! She has been ever-supportive and has been my second pair of ears and eyes for this story. She has also done some of the beautiful artwork for this story. Deb, thank you! You are a rare and precious friend! 

Now, I'm out! 

Signing off 

Sindie, July 13, 2005 


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